


febuwhump 2020

by killerqueenwrites



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Angst, Drowning, Endgame what Endgame, Fluff, Gen, Humor, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt/Comfort, Hypothermia, Kidnapped Peter Parker, Movie Night, Presumed Dead, Protective Tony Stark, Sickfic, Someone stop me, Temporary Hearing Loss, The Raft Prison (Marvel), Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Whump, as if i wasn't going to do febuwhump, come on guys, i keep locking peter in things, overzealous use of a baby carrier
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-01
Updated: 2020-02-25
Packaged: 2021-02-19 12:34:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 26,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22511020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/killerqueenwrites/pseuds/killerqueenwrites
Summary: a series of febuwhump prompts, and maybe some fluffy ones too
Relationships: Harley Keener & Peter Parker, James "Rhodey" Rhodes & Tony Stark, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 224
Kudos: 734





	1. presumed dead

**Author's Note:**

> happy irondadiversary to me!! can you believe i started a year ago, doing this exact challenge? time flies
> 
> just a warning now: i don’t know how many prompts i’ll end up doing, or if i’ll do any fluff prompts, and they will be wildly out of order lol
> 
> will i ever stop with the presumed dead trope? not today

By the time the team finds him, it’s been a week.

He’s screamed and cried as much as he needed to, raging against the concrete walls, the cold metal door. When Rhodey bursts through the door, he’s a hollow shell, slumped against the far wall, watching his friend approach with tired eyes.

“Hey, man,” Rhodey says quietly, “you wanna get out of here?”

Tony gulps down a sob and accepts the hand up, his knees trembling, one fist clenched against his chest.

“Did they hurt you, Tony?”

Not in the traditional sense, not in the way anyone would expect. It would have been kinder to kill him.

“What’s that?” Rhodey’s hand moves and Tony jerks both of his back, clutching the crumpled piece of fabric even tighter. “Okay, I won’t take it, but can you show it to me?”

That makes it real. It’s not just Tony’s nightmare anymore, not just inside his head. Even so, he slowly unfurls his fingers to show the familiar mask, ripped and stained with a deeper red.

“Oh, shit,” Rhodey mutters. “Hey, guys, I have Tony. I need confirmation on Spider-Man, ASAP.”

“‘S’my fault,” Tony croaks, voice raw from dehydration and grief. “Thought it was gonna be an easy mission. They killed him, Rhodey.”

“It’s not your fault. It could never be your fault. You love that kid.”

_Love_. Yes, Tony loved Peter. Still loves him. He’d never told him. The kid never knew.

“Then why couldn’t I save him?” he whispers, and feels himself crumbling all over again.

“Rogers? Yeah, you – you what? Are you sure? Am I–? Yes, I have Tony. _Yes_ , I’m sure. All right. Thank God.” Rhodey turns back to him. “No, he won’t believe me. Yeah. Yeah, I’ll meet you there.”

Tony presses the mask to his face and breathes in, searching for any trace of Peter. It’s a pointless endeavour; he’s been doing this for a week, and all he’s been able to smell is damp earth and blood.

“Gonna take you back to the jet, okay? Steve’s gonna meet us there. Can you walk?”

“Yeah,” Tony says, his voice barely a rasp. They hadn’t beaten him, just tossed him in the cell, three meals a day, bed in the corner. At worst, it was a little cold.

He’d yelled his way through that first night, pounding fists and feet against the solid metal door, demanding to know where they’d taken Spider-Man, what they’d done with him. He felt something snap in his knuckles, but he didn’t care. He wanted – _needed_ – to see his kid.

The second day. That’s when they told him, barely hiding their smirks as one of them tossed the mask to the floor. The mask Peter would never give up if he had a shred of strength or awareness left. And the blood…

“Cute kid, Stark,” they’d said. “Not the prettiest corpse, though. Sorry.“ Tony had wondered how he could still be living when the world had ended.

Rhodey leads him out of the base, a strong arm around his shoulders, and Tony can’t wait until he’s home, when he can fall apart in front of Pepper and Rhodey, maybe Happy. God – he needs to tell Happy. He needs to tell _May_.

“Couple of minutes out,” Rhodey murmurs into his comm. “Steve, where you at?” He listens to the answer. “All right, how about the rest of the team? We in? Okay, good. We should probably get them home as quickly as possible.”

The Quinjet comes into view just over the crest of the hill, Steve’s familiar figure hovering at the top of the ramp. He turns as if he’s talking to someone inside, nodding towards Tony and Rhodey making their slow way towards him.

“Oh, my – Mr Stark?”

Tony stops dead. There’s no way – he thought he’d never hear that voice again.

“Mr Stark!” A small shape darts past Steve and sprints towards him: familiar messy brown hair; a shirt that’s too big for him; stained sweatpants. “Mr Stark!”

“Kid?” he breathes, and Rhodey lets go just in time for Peter to crash into his chest, so hard he sits down with the force of it. Peter falls with him and they land in a tangle of limbs.

“Mr Stark!” Peter gasps out, his face buried in Tony’s shoulder. “Oh my God, I thought you were dead.”

Tony splutters. “You thought–? I thought – Jesus, they said they’d _killed_ you!”

Peter huffs out a breath – could be a laugh, could be a sob – but it’s warm and comforting against Tony’s neck. Tony hugs him closer, trembling with relief.

“ _Peter_ ,” he whispers, reverent as a prayer, and presses a kiss to his cheek. He’s spent a week with _‘not the prettiest corpse’_ rattling around inside his head; Peter, alive and breathing, arms and legs wrapped around him like a koala, is the best thing he’s ever seen. Even when Peter sits back, he keeps his feet hooked together around Tony’s waist. “God, I thought I’d lost you.”

“They gave me this,” Peter says, and Tony turns his attention to what’s in the kid’s hands, “and I didn’t wanna believe them, but it…”

It’s Tony’s helmet, split wide open across the top and splattered with blood. If Tony had been wearing it when the blow landed, he would have been killed. But he wasn’t.

In answer, he holds out the crumpled mask that’s still twisted around his fingers.

“Oh,” Peter breathes out, and reaches out to brush his fingers over the ruined fabric. “That’s – they…”

“Yeah,” Tony whispers. “Doesn’t matter. You’re okay. I’m okay.”

Peter nods, rests his forehead on Tony’s shoulder with a heavy sigh. Now Tony can see what he’d missed in his first wave of frantic relief: the cuts on his face; the ugly bruises wrapping around his wrists, like he’d been cuffed; his red-rimmed eyes. “‘M glad you’re okay. I’d be so bored without you.”

“Oh, is that all?”

“Who else would yell at me about classic rock?”

“I’m so glad that’s all I am to you. I clearly contribute nothing else to your life.” Tony takes one of Peter’s wrists, turning it over gently. “Does this hurt?”

“It’ll heal in, like, a day.”

“Doesn’t answer my question.”

“‘S’fine,” Peter says, “really. I was just…”

“Yeah,” Tony flexes his fingers, wincing at the throb in his knuckles. “I know.” He tries not to think about Peter yanking against heavy cuffs, screaming for him. “How about moving this to the jet, hm? My ass is getting damp.”

“Are you offering to carry me?”

“No,” Tony says, but heaves himself to his feet anyway, Peter still wrapped around his torso like some strange reverse backpack. “God, why aren’t you heavy?”

“Spider bones.”

“Spiders don’t _have_ bones.”

Peter just snickers. Tony _missed_ him, had missed him so much it hurt.

“You dumbass,” he mutters, every syllable laced with fondness. He’s vaguely aware of Rhodey and Steve watching them, but he pays them no attention.

“Sorry,” Peter mumbles once they’re inside the jet and sitting on the cot in the corner. “I didn’t realise they’d taken my mask – I just thought I’d lost it. If I knew what they were doing with it…”

“No,” Tony says firmly, “not your fault. Not at all.”

There’s a beat of silence, then, “Mr Stark, I _really_ thought you were dead.”

“I know.” Tony turns his head and presses a kiss into Peter’s hair. He rests his face there for a long moment, just breathing. “Not one of my favourite weeks.”

“Not one of mine, either. Still not as bad as finals week, though. I swear school is trying to kill me.”

Tony snorts; he can’t help it. Peter yelps and squirms away, batting at him as he laughs.

“Gross! Mr Stark! Old people germs!” He doesn’t get far on the small cot and ends up pressed against the wall, kicking out weakly in between fits of laughter.

“Old?” Tony repeats, outraged. “ _Old_? How dare you? You are a horrible, horrible child.”

“You love meeee,” Peter chirps in a sing-song voice, completely unaware of the way Tony’s brain sputters to a halt.

He could have lost him. If their captors hadn’t kept both of them alive, for whatever reason – leverage, cruelty, he doesn’t know – Peter could have died without Tony ever telling him.

“Yeah,” he says softly, “yeah, I do.”

Peter flops down on the cot, kicking his feet up into Tony’s lap. A small smile is working its way over his face, no matter how much he tries to hide it.

“Thought I lost you, kid.” Tony pats his ankles. “And here you are, using me as a footstool. I can’t take much more of this disrespect:”

“I’ll sit up if you don’t sneeze into my hair again.”

“I didn’t sneeze, I _laughed_.”

“It was an explosive laugh, then.” Peter sits up anyway, now practically in Tony’s lap. “Mr Stark, I’m sorry they – I should’ve been better, and then they might not have caught me, and then you wouldn’t–“

“No. What did I say earlier? None of this is on you. Shit, kid, _I’m_ sorry. This was supposed to be simple. Easy.”

“Easy? Us? The universe doesn’t like us _that_ much.”

“Screw the universe.”

“Fuck the universe,” Peter agrees.

“Peter Benjamin Parker.”

“Uh-oh, full name alert.” Peter smirks up at Tony. “I think I’ve earned one fuck word. I had a _week_.”

“Yeah, it was…a week. Don’t talk like that around May though, kid. She already thinks I’m a terrible influence.”

“Don’t die,” Peter says steadily, “and we’ll be all good.”

“Promise,” Tony says, even though that’s a promise he shouldn’t make, because he can’t. He can’t promise that. “Don’t you die on me, either.”

“I’ll do my best.”

“Yeah, no. I’m gonna need you to do better than that.” He’s spent a week alone, facing a world without Peter Parker. He’s not strong enough to do that again.

“My very very bestest.”

“Are you five?” Tony says. “Actually, don’t answer that. I know you are.”

“Rude.”

Rhodey appears in the jet’s cockpit, Steve and Sam halfway up the ramp behind him. “We all good?”

“Could be worse,” Tony says. He rests his chin on top of Peter’s head.

Steve smiles. “Romanoff’s just…finishing up. We found your suit, Tony, and Peter was wearing his when I found him, but they’re both ruined, I’m afraid.”

Tony’s gaze strays to his helmet, Peter’s mask, abandoned on the floor. “Yeah, new suits were in the cards anyway.”

Steve nods, before fixing Peter with a no-nonsense stare. “You feeling better, Queens?”

“Uh-huh.”

Tony narrows his eyes at Steve over Peter’s head; he’s getting the full story later, because he knows he can’t trust Peter to tell him everything. “Call Cho, so she’s ready in medical when we get back.”

“Mr Stark, I’m _fine_.”

“Liar.”

“I’m only going if you order me pizza.”

“Done.”

“Cool.” Peter shifts so he’s sitting more securely on Tony’s lap. “Pepperoni, please.”

_Normal service has resumed_ , Tony thinks with a burst of amused relief. Peter leans into him like he knows, wonderfully warm and alive.

“You better call your aunt, kid,” Rhodey says, stepping out of his suit. “And Pepper, Tony. I swear, they were five seconds away from climbing in suits and flying out to look for you.”

“May Parker in a suit,” Tony says. “That’s a terrifying thought.”

Peter tenses. “Don’t–“

“Hot, though.”

Peter groans dramatically and flops, boneless, against Tony’s chest. “You’re the worst. The _worst_.”

“I know. You only keep me around for suits, my views on rock music and pizza.”

“Exactly.” But when Peter nestles into his chest, relaxed and content – safe and _alive_ – they both know it couldn’t be further from the truth.


	2. freeze to death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another shiver, then another, until every inch of him is quivering. It hurts, but he can’t stop.
> 
> He can’t stop he can’t stop he can’t–
> 
> He’s going to die in here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for your lovely comments on the last chapter! i'm ill and tired and dosed up on cold medicine, so i'm giving you this before i head off for a nap
> 
> that fatws trailer though?? yes please?

They left him.

Peter had been expecting torture, interrogation, beatings, manhandling, vivid, detailed threats: all the brutality that comes with being captured. He expected to be told his purpose: a hostage, insurance, bait, a science experiment, a target for revenge.

But no. He was just bundled into this walk-in freezer, tossed to the floor, and abandoned.

It’s a large white space, almost empty except for a few bare shelves on the back wall. Peter shivers, crouches down, tucks his hands into his armpits. He isn’t wearing his suit; they’d grabbed him while he was changing, caught him completely unawares. Mr Stark’s going to chew him out for that later, going to remind him to “be vigilant, even when you’re just you. Especially then, because you won’t be expecting an attack.” Yeah, he’s going to be pissed.

If he gets here in time.

Peter can just about make out two figures on the other side of the frosted-over glass, watching him dispassionately as he shudders and hunches even further in on himself.

Do they know he can’t regulate temperature like most people? More to the point, do they care? Another violent shiver wracks his body, and one of the figures moves as if they’re making a note. So: yes and no.

Science experiment it is.

How long has he been in here? He’s lost track, and they’ve taken his watch, his phone – anything that might be used to trace him.

His knees give out suddenly and he sits down, hard. Logic tells him he should try and keep off the floor, but logic isn’t doing much to move his frozen muscles.

Another shiver, then another, until every inch of him is quivering. It hurts, but he can’t stop.

He can’t stop he can’t stop he _can’t_ –

He’s going to die in here.

Every time Peter opens his mouth, the cold hurts his teeth. It burns the inside of his nose when he breathes in. His chattering teeth keep clamping down on the edge of his tongue or catching the inside of his cheek.

He’s so tired. He’s going to die. They’re going to kill him.

He should have listened when Mr Stark told him to stay in the Tower, to at least give Spider-Man a break until they figured out what was happening to enhanced people, who was taking them. He should have been paying attention. He’s so stupid.

One second he’s sitting, curled into a ball, and the next he’s on his side, cheek pressed into the ground.

He’s so cold, so tired. His eyes keep slipping shut against his will, and he’s finding it harder and harder to find reasons why he shouldn’t just let them.

How long has it been? How long since they grabbed him? He can’t remember – can’t remember if there was a long journey, if there was a gap between his arrival and being shoved in here to deep-freeze. He can barely remember what day it is.

Peter bites his lip, noting apathetically that his teeth aren’t chattering as much anymore. In fact, he’s barely even shivering. Surely that means he’s getting warmer? And if he’s getting warmer, then it shouldn’t be a problem if he shuts his eyes for a minute, right?

Just a quick nap, and then he can figure out how to get out of here. Maybe he can try hitting the door again. It’s glass, right? Glass can break. He doesn’t know why it didn’t the first time he tried.

Yeah, he’ll do that next, or Tony’s gonna be mad. He’s normally just worried, though, and Peter doesn’t like worrying him. Or May.

He’s so _tired_.

* * *

It takes Tony five hours to track down where the hell they’re keeping Peter. He’d been close to a breakthrough anyway, had been on the case of these people for weeks, but this was the final fucking straw. They took his kid.

It takes him five hours, and he spends every second trying not to think about the other sixteen missing kids, about the one body they found, mutilated almost beyond recognition. That’s not going to be Peter. He won’t let it be Peter.

He sends an alert out to Rhodey the second he gets a hit, not waiting for any longer than it takes FRIDAY to double check and confirm the location.

Still in New York. Right under his nose, like they’re taunting him, taunting all the Avengers. Bastards. He’s gonna kill them.

He kicks in the door of the building without ceremony and heads towards the large room on the first floor. FRIDAY confirms there are fifteen heat signatures on the floor above, probably young adults but none of them a match for Peter, so he guesses they’re the other missing kids.

“Still one unaccounted for,” he mutters, and bursts into the room.

He stuns six people with low-level blasts before they can react, leaving one standing by what looks like a control panel. It’s a laboratory, he realises, complete with a medical gurney, doctors in white coats, a metal door with frosted-over glass like it leads to a freezer.

A chair with leather straps to hold down its occupant. Red-brown stains in between the tiles on the floor, not quite scrubbed away. These people are hurting kids. They’ve already killed one. They could be hurting Peter right now.

All in all, Tony considers it very restrained when he leaves the six scientists unconscious on the floor without sending any bullets their way, and instead turns towards the man trying to shuffle around the edge of the room. “You. Stop.”

He stops.

“Where is he?” Tony demands.

The doctor just cowers against the desk.

“Spider-Man! Where is he?”

He points. Towards the freezer.

“No,” Tony breathes, almost tripping over his own feet as he starts towards the door. The first repulsor blast barely cracks the glass; he groans and yanks the door open, his HUD instantly zeroing in on the slumped figure in the middle. He’d know those curls anywhere.

“Pete?” He rolls the kid over, recoiling at his pale face, at the frost dusting his hair. “Hey, kid, wake up.”

How long has he been in here? Since he went missing? Do they know that his body works differently, that he can’t handle extreme temperatures?

“Peter,” Tony says more insistently, giving his shoulder a shake, ignoring the sounds of fighting behind him. “Peter, wake up. Wake up, come on.”

“Tony?”

“In here!” Tony turns back to Peter, cups the back of his head, strokes a thumb over his cheek. “FRIDAY, scan him.” _Please please please–_

_“His heartbeat and breathing rate is extremely low, Boss, not to mention his internal temperature.”_

_He’s alive_. It takes everything in Tony not to sob in relief. “Can I move him?”

_“I would highly recommend it.”_

“Okay.” Tony scoops Peter into his arms, cradling him against his chest. “Okay, buddy, let’s get you out of here.” Peter’s head lolls, horrifyingly limp. “It’s okay.”

Rhodey meets them at the door; he flips his faceplate back, his eyes flying wide. “The medics are here, or Happy’s five minutes out–“

“Medics,” Tony says firmly. “I need Cho.”

“They all need Cho, man.”

“How many?”

“Fifteen others. They’re all alive, but…”

“But?”

Rhodey looks away, swallows. “Jesus, Tony. It’s a good thing you got to him so quickly. I’ve had to call Bruce down here as well.”

Peter doesn’t move. He doesn’t quite look dead anymore, thankfully for Tony’s sanity, but it’s definitely something more than unconscious or asleep.

_Oh_. Tony sucks in a breath, an idea slowly forming in his head. “Okay, new plan. Are you good to handle this?”

“Steve, Nat and Sam are on their way. What are you gonna do?”

“I think I know what’s wrong with him. I’ll get Happy to take us back to the Tower. Those kids have a room each for as long as they need or want it, you got that?”

“Yeah, course. Take care of him.”

“Always,” Tony says, and then he’s striding away. “Fri, get Hap to meet me outside. Tell him to turn the heat up.”

_“You got it, Boss.”_

“All right.” He shifts Peter in his arms, rolling the kid’s head so it rests more comfortably against his chestplate. “It’s okay, kid, you’re gonna be fine. I got you.”

Peter stirs, lets out a tiny moan. It’s weak and broken, but it’s still a sign of life.

“Yeah, I got you.”

* * *

“Hey,” someone’s murmuring, “are you with us? Take your time, buddy.”

He’s not cold anymore. That’s the first thing he registers. He’s lying on something soft, too. Soft and warm.

“Yeah, there you are.”

Peter peels open his eyes. Mr Stark is leaning over him, his face tired. It’s white – everywhere is white – and he panics for a moment, convinced he’s still in the freezer, before remembering he’s warm.

And Mr Stark’s here. He must be safe.

“Happ’ned?” he rasps.

“You’ve been asleep for two days,” Mr Stark says quietly. “Well, hibernating. You were in that freezer for so long, your spider DNA kicked in.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Probably saved your life, but it didn’t make finding you any less terrifying.”

“S’rry.”

“No, you couldn’t control that–“

“Should’ve listened,” Peter interrupts. “Been more careful.”

“Maybe,” Mr Stark says with a sigh. “It doesn’t matter now, kid. You’re safe.”

Peter sinks back into his pillow. “It was the same people, right? The ones who took the kids? Were there…others?” _Were they still alive?_

“Yeah.” Mr Stark swallows. “Yeah, there were other kids in there. They all – they were enhanced, and they were all being experimented on.”

Peter nods. “I could see the people, like, taking notes, or whatever, but I thought they were going to leave me in there. Thought I was gonna freeze to death.” He hates that his voice wobbles, but he can’t help it.

Mr Stark passes a hand over Peter’s forehead, pushing back his hair. “I’d never let that happen. Not ever. But, _God_ , Parker, when I tell you to be careful – for your aunt’s sake if not for mine–“

“I know, I will. I don’t like worrying you guys.”

”But you’re so very good at it.”

Peter grimaces, making his best apologetic face.

“Yeah, you’re real cute, kiddo. Bane of my life.”

“Well, you’re…annoying,” Peter mutters, and Tony laughs out loud.

“Look who’s talking, Web-doodle.” The hand is still in his hair, fingers gently massaging through his curls. “In all seriousness, if I ever have to see you looking that corpse-like again, I will…I don’t know, but it won’t be pretty. You really put me through it sometimes, you know that?”

“Love you too.”

“Ah-ah. You don’t get to deflect just like that.” Mr Stark leans forward and kisses the top of his head. “Looks like it’s working, though. Love you, kid. Get some rest. You definitely need it.”

“That feels insulting, somehow.”

“Good.” Mr Stark flashes him a smile. “Maybe you’ll listen to me for once.”

“I always listen,” Peter mumbles as he settles back against his pillows. “Just don’t…do it.”

“In one ear, out the other?” Mr Stark’s voice lowers, gentles, and Peter’s eyelids start to dip. “Yeah, sounds about right.”

“Leave me ‘lone,” Peter whines, but he’s drifting already. Mr Stark learned a long time ago how to send him straight to sleep, and it’s humiliating and makes him feel like a toddler and it’s so, so comforting.

“No can do, Underoos. Gotta watch you and these heated blankets, apparently. You know they can get too hot?”

“‘S’not a thing.”

“Trust me. When they were first invented, they used to catch on fire and everything.”

“Are you trying to bore me to sleep?”

“Maybe. Is it working?”

“Maybe.”

Mr Stark snorts, starts talking again, running his fingers through Peter’s hair, but whatever he says is lost to the haze of sleep.


	3. drowning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One second Peter is fine, crouching behind some cars as he tries to work his way along the bridge, towards where they think Beck is. The next, a choked, cut-off yell is echoing in Tony’s ears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello!! i am still sick, but thank you for all your comments on the last chapter. this happened because i saw a tweet where someone pointed out that peter actually got smashed between two cars before falling off the bridge in ffh. fun times.

It happens in the blink of an eye.

Tony really should have been paying more attention. He’s flying blind, all of them are – no FRIDAY, no Karen, not even Rhodey’s slightly less advanced AI. Peter had brought it up, still shaky on his feet as he stumbled around the lab on the jet (because Beck had tried to kill him, had hit him with a fucking _train_.)

“He has EDITH,” the kid had said, his voice trembling, “and she could hack FRIDAY, or Karen, and trick their sensors and tie us up in illusion after illusion. We just – can’t risk it.”

And Tony had grabbed Peter by the shoulders, willing him to calm down, and met Happy’s gaze over the kid’s head. “Okay. I trust you, kid. We’ll do it your way.”

And now they’re fighting an army of drones with only a comm link between them all: Happy in the Tower of London with four teenagers; Rhodey and Tony in their suits, flying around the swarm of drones, trying to keep them away from civilians; and Peter down on the bridge.

One second Peter is fine, crouching behind some cars as he tries to work his way along the bridge, towards where they think Beck is. The next, a choked, cut-off yell is echoing in Tony’s ears.

“Kid?” He blasts yet another drone. “Peter!”

_“Boss, what’s happening?”_

_“One of the drones set off another sonic pulse,”_ Rhodey says, _“but I don’t know where he went. I didn’t see.”_

The cars Peter had been using to shelter behind are gone. There’s no familiar flash of red when Tony swoops down to get a better look. There are ripples in the water beneath the bridge.

“Shit!” Tony hisses, and dives.

_“What?”_ he hears Rhodey yell _. “Tony, what?”_

He hits the water and keeps going, searching through the murky gloom for that red he knows so well, now offset with black instead of blue. _There_. Trapped between two cars that are steadily sinking, struggling to get loose.

“Okay,” Tony mutters, even though he doesn’t know if the comms are still working, if Peter can even hear him. “Okay, let’s get you out of here.”

Peter stops thrashing so frantically when he sees Tony, but he’s tugging at his leg, trying to free it – the same leg he’d been limping on earlier. He's hurt. He can’t breathe. He can’t move.

“I see it, kiddo. Let me just–“ Tony braces his arms, tries to push the cars apart – and his right shoulder, without warning, gives way. “ _Fuck_!”

Not now. Not after the months of physio, not when he’s finally starting to get used to his new arm. Not when he has to save his kid.

The sudden jolt moves the cars off Peter’s leg, but they roll so his torso is trapped instead. Peter jerks in shock, the whites on his mask flying wide, air bubbles rushing out of his mouth in a stream.

The cars shift again, but they’re still moving, Peter’s still trapped between them, and it’s been too long, too fucking long for someone to be underwater. Tony should have brought the Iron Spider, should have refused to enter a fight like this without AIs to watch their backs. More debris is falling – bricks, parts of cars, drones, rubble from the bridge – and it sends them spinning, up, down, sideways. He doesn’t know. He needs to get Peter out _now_.

“Push!” he yells, making the gesture as he does, because Peter’s movements are slowing, his arms going sluggish. Tony hadn’t realised the Thames was so deep, but he also can’t tell which way is up anymore.

Peter does, kicking out with his good leg, and Tony tries to force the cars apart even with his right arm hanging uselessly at his side.

“Come on, come _on_ ,” Tony grunts. They’re starting to move, starting to get somewhere, but Peter goes suddenly limp, his hands losing their grip. “Don’t you dare – Peter Parker, don’t you _dare_!” He presses one foot against the car on top and pushes, all desperation and adrenaline and sheer, parental terror.

It moves. Tony doesn’t waste another second, just grabs Peter’s arms and fires his repulsors, aiming towards what he hopes is the surface. He’s right; they burst out of the water and arc over the bridge supports, landing in a heap behind an abandoned taxi that's parked on the bridge, only a few feet from the bank.

Tony flips his faceplate open and groans. His shoulder is throbbing, sending waves of phantom agony down his arm. Pepper’s going to kill him for being so reckless.

Peter isn’t moving.

“Shit,” Tony mutters, sitting up and tugging the kid’s mask off. They’re hidden enough that he can risk it, but that’s far from the most important thing on his mind right now. He can’t even see if Peter’s breathing. “Peter?”

_“Tones…hear me? Where…”_

Tony gives Peter’s shoulders a shake, wishing more than anything for FRIDAY’s comforting voice in his ear. “Peter!”

_Water in his lungs_. He turns the kid over, sends a silent apology to Happy and his careful stitching, and slams an open-palmed hand down on Peter's back. Nothing.

“Do _not_ do this,” Tony hisses, slapping between Peter’s shoulder blades again and again. “Not now. Not after everything. Not like this.” Peter's been to space. He's fought aliens, met wizards. Tony went to the ends of the universe and back to save him. He's not drowning in a fucking river.

Peter jerks suddenly, chokes, and water splatters on the ground. He drags in a shaky breath, then another, each one interspersed with wet coughs.

“Yeah, get it all out,” Tony says, relief making his voice quiver. “Don’t know what shit is in that river.”

Peter retches one more time and sags against Tony’s chest, breathing hard. But he’s _breathing_. “Okay, that _sucked_.” Peter looks up, eyes red, curls plastered to his face. “Is your arm okay?”

“Is my – are you kidding?”

Peter manages a grin.

“How’s your leg?”

“‘S’fine.”

“Liar. Your ribs?”

“ _Fine_.”

“Liar.”

Peter ignores that, instead turning to look at the walkway above the bridge. “He’s up there. I saw him, right before the drone fired – we have to stop him, Mr Stark–“

“Hey, whoa, whoa, whoa, slow your roll. You just nearly drowned.”

“But I _didn’t_ ,” Peter insists, reaching for his mask even as Tony tries to hold it away, “and he’s going to blow up half of London, so we need to go, like, now–“

“Peter, stop!” Tony snaps. “Just – hang on a damn second.”

“We don’t have time!” Peter retorts. “We need to get EDITH before he does any more damage. My friends are over there with Happy – and Rhodey–“

He’s not going to stop, Tony realises with a thrill of fear. Pride, too. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“I’ll follow your lead. You and your, uh…Peter-tingle.”

“Stop,” Peter groans, but he’s laughing. “Are you being serious? You’re not going to grab me and fly me off to Scotland or something? Tell me to stay close to the ground?”

Tony shakes his head, remembering the same night Peter clearly is, the cold water of the Hudson, the way Peter had shuddered as he wrung his mask out: the first time he’d began to think that maybe losing Peter Parker wasn’t an option. “Not this time.”

Peter watches him, so young but so very sure of himself. He’s not a kid anymore.

“So you take point–“

_“Tony, can you hear me? You okay down there?”_

“Rhodey? Hey. Yeah, we’re good. We’re going for Beck, so you keep those drones off us. Happy, you hear that?”

_“Whatever you’re doing, do it fast, Boss.”_

“Right.” Tony hands Peter his mask. “You got this, Spider-Man.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.” Peter pulls his mask down, rolls his shoulders. “We got this.”


	4. glass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Five minutes ago, Itsy-Bitsy was on this street.” FRIDAY pulls up everything: CCTV; three different angles on traffic cams. “He has disappeared from my scanners, and I have no matches for facial recognition in a five-block radius.”
> 
> “That’s not possible, FRIDAY. He didn’t just vanish! You didn’t even lose signal when that lizard dragged him into the sewers! How can he be gone?”
> 
> FRIDAY is silent for a long moment, then: “Boss, you have an incoming call from Secretary Ross.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i based this off the prison in deadpool 2, which is basically the raft on steroids and a prime whump opportunity
> 
> shoutout to my fucked sleep schedule for allowing me to post this at midnight

Tony will forever regret letting the kid go out that day.

In his defence, he didn’t think about it, at least not with the concern it deserved. Surely not even Ross would go after such a widely-loved hero, a public figure, someone largely suspected to be a kid? He thought wrong.

It happens in a flash. One second, he’s tinkering in his lab, nodding absently to the beat of ‘Highway to Hell’. The kid’s on patrol, on strict orders to avoid the Compound until after Ross has called – Tony doesn’t want him getting so much as a sniff of Peter. He has some new upgrades for both of their suits, though, and he can’t wait to show the kid. Just as soon as Ross gets out of his hair.

The next moment, the little spider symbol in the corner of all his screens vanishes. Disappears. Which is impossible, because that means everything is down – Peter’s suit, his watch, his phone, Karen’s entire network.

“FRIDAY?” he says. “What happened? Where’s Karen?”

_“I’m not sure, Boss.”_

Tony shoves his tools away and drags the nearest screen around to face him. Something is deeply, badly wrong; he doesn’t need Peter’s sixth sense to know that. “‘Not sure’ isn’t good enough, Fri. Get me the kid’s last location, now.”

_“Five minutes ago, Itsy-Bitsy was on this street.”_ FRIDAY pulls up everything: CCTV; three different angles on traffic cams. _“He has disappeared from my scanners, and I have no matches for facial recognition in a five-block radius.”_

“That’s not possible, FRIDAY. He didn’t just vanish! You didn’t even lose signal when that lizard dragged him into the sewers! How can he be gone?”

FRIDAY is silent for a long moment, then: _“Boss, you have an incoming call from Secretary Ross.”_

It clicks.

“No, he didn’t,” Tony breathes. But he _would_ , because his Accords are being thrown out and redrafted and resubmitted, and Ross has been on Tony’s case for weeks about it. But how? How does Ross, of all people, have more advanced tech than him? He sure as shit didn’t get it from Wakanda.

_“Should I answer it?”_

“Give me ten seconds.” Tony closes his eyes, takes a deep breath. As much as he wants to threaten Ross with a violent and painful death, that won’t help anything: not Peter, not the Accords, not Rogers and the others, and certainly not Pepper’s stress levels.

_“Mr Stark.”_

“Mr Secretary. How can I help you?”

_“You know how, Stark.”_

“And you know that’s not an option. _Sir_.”

_“Hm,”_ Ross says. _“How about I show you what I’ve been working on recently? I’ve been spending a lot of time talking to some friends I have up in Canada – shared interests, you know how it is. I think if you saw what I’ve done with the Raft, you might be more…inclined to offer your support.”_

_The Raft_. Tony swallows. “I can be there by this evening.”

_“Oh, no.”_ The smirk In Ross’s voice chases away any lingering doubt Tony might have had, any notion that this is anything other than his fault. He knows. _“Don’t rush yourself, Stark. I know you’re a very busy man. I’ll see you in a week.”_

* * *

Peter wakes up in a glass cube.

He doesn’t quite notice at first. He has to blink a few times, struggling to get his eyes to focus, and everything around him looks the same shade of grey. He tries to raise his head, but something knocks against his neck; his fingers fly up to grab it.

_Oh, no. No no no._

“Mr Parker. Good to see you awake.”

Peter whips his head around, wincing at the collar. It’s not painfully tight, but it’s stiff and restricting. The glass is thick, almost thick enough to distort his already blurred vision.

Where is he? Where’s Mr Stark? Surely he wouldn’t let this happen if he knew?

He stares at the man in front of him – his eyes still aren’t working properly – only to inhale sharply when he finally recognises him. “You.”

He remembers: Karen glitching, fritzing once before going out completely; fumbling for his phone; the vans blocking the alleyway; the jolt of electricity before everything went black.

Secretary Ross just raises his eyebrows. “So, Stark didn’t keep you in the dark about everything. Don’t worry about your collar, by the way. It’s simply a power suppressor.”

Of course. He can’t see, can barely hear, can’t climb the walls or try to fight his way out. He feels exposed all of a sudden, like there’s a hundred unseen eyes staring him down from every direction. He’s in a glass box, like a museum exhibit, a zoo animal, a science experiment.

“Why am I here?” he manages eventually.

“Well, I’d love to tell you it’s nothing personal, but unfortunately, that’s not quite true. You are…annoying, Spider-Man.”

It’s almost a relief, that he’s not just here as Peter Parker, Tony Stark’s intern. This is Spider-Man – but this man knows he’s both.

“You’re proof that the Accords aren’t a catch-all, the exception that undermines the rule. You’re the anomaly that proves me wrong.”

_The Accords?_ “Really? It’s been more than a year, man.”

“The joys of global bureaucracy, I’m afraid. What you also are, Mr Parker, is far more dangerous than Tony Stark or his friends seem to realise.”

And there it is. Blame Mr Stark. It’s almost routine at this point.

“So, you need to either sign the original agreement, or I’ll have to keep you in here. In the interests of public safety, of course.”

“I can’t sign any documents,” Peter says, fighting to keep his voice steady. “I’m sixteen.”

Ross shrugs, his expression saying ‘not my problem’. “Then I suggest you get comfortable. This is well within my remit, so don’t expect any help from Stark and his billion-dollar corner.”

“You tazed me, knocked me out and stuck me in an ice cube.”

“Yes. Like I said: entirely within my remit. I hope you like the upgrades, by the way. A lot of work went into it.”

“Upgrades to what?”

“The Raft,” Ross says, and turns to walk away, before tossing over his shoulder, “Enjoy your stay!”

* * *

_“Stay calm,”_ FRIDAY reminds him as Tony steps off the helicopter. _“Colonel Rhodes is on standby. I’ve already started bypassing the Raft’s firewalls.”_

Tony scoffs. _Stay calm_. It’s been a week. Peter’s been at the mercy of Ross, of all people, for a week.

“Stark!” Ross is striding towards him, as confident as if nothing has happened, as if he hadn’t nearly torn the Avengers apart. As if he didn’t take Tony’s kid. “I appreciate you coming all the way out here.”

“Mm.” Tony flashes him a sharp smile. “I can’t wait to see inside.”

“I’m sure.” He knows. Tony knows he knows. He knows that, too. “We’ve upgraded one of the wings since you were last here. New containment units, the works.”

”Any residents?” Tony probes. It’s been a week of nothing; he has no idea what might have happened to Peter in that time. If it hadn’t been for Pepper, he’s sure he and May would have lost their minds.

“Yes, a couple.”

_Stay calm._

Ross leads him down a corridor lined with glass. When Tony glances into to the side, he sees they’re cubes. Boxes to hold people. He swallows down bile. Sometimes, there’s a person in one of them, glaring with sullen, dead eyes. Each one of them has a collar around their necks, red lights blinking. None of them are Peter.

“You’ll enjoy this one.”

“I’m sure I will.”

“New York’s Spider-Man.”

Tony swallows hard, fighting to keep his expression controlled. This is why he’s here. Peter is why he’s here.

Ross leads him to the end of the corridor, to a one-way window overlooking an area the size of a gym. In the centre is a glass box, and inside that…

Peter is huddled on the tiny cot, one of the collars blinking steadily around his neck. He looks pale and ill, but otherwise unhurt. 

“Overkill, surely?” Tony says, not taking his eyes off the cell. _He's alive. He's okay._

“I think you’re underestimating how dangerous he is, Stark.”

“Really? What is he, twelve?”

“Looks that way, doesn’t he?” Ross scoffs. “Peter Parker, sixteen years old. Apparently employed by your company, Stark. You know him?”

_Shit_. “You think I deal with interns?”

“Did I say he was an intern?”

“No, but you said he’s sixteen. What is he otherwise, the head of R&D?”

“Hm.” Ross stares at him for a moment longer before turning back to look at Peter, a hungry expression on his face. “I’ve been working on ways to, ah, _persuade_ him to sign. If we can get him on a leash, he’ll be our best asset.”

“A _leash_?” Tony repeats. That’s his kid, not a fucking dog.

“Maybe literally. Most likely, a tracking bracelet, a remotely-controlled power suppressor, a ban on moving across state lines unless authorised, a stun implant if he can’t behave.”

“That’s a human child, Mr Secretary.”

“No. It’s a freak. If he isn’t compliant, he’ll stay there for the rest of his life. No human contact, no privacy, no fresh air or sunlight. I wonder how long it will be before he goes mad.”

It takes every ounce of Tony’s self-control not to brain the man against the wall right there and then. “See, this – this is why your Accords were thrown out and rewritten. It’s not because of anything Rhodes or I are doing. It’s because you’ve kidnapped a sixteen-year-old kid and locked him in a cell, and you have the balls to stand in front of me, acting like you have a right to do that.”

“Of course I have the right,” Ross snarls. “You know what doesn’t have any rights? That thing in there. It’s dangerous, it’s a mutant. It needs to either be controlled or contained, and no one else realises that. No one else understands what a threat these _things_ present to our country, to the world. Not the President, not the military, not the UN. I don’t give a shit what the new Accords say. You are going to support and sign my version, and convince the UN to throw out the new draft.”

Tony narrows his eyes. “Kinda feel like I’m being threatened, so where’s the threat?”

“You agree, or Parker spends the rest of his life in here.”

“But if I do that, you’ll have the authority to arrest him anyway…” Tony says slowly. Of course. Of _course_. He’d forgotten Ross for a moment, forgotten what he was really like. This has always, always been about control.

“Well, yes. Maybe I’ll let you visit sometimes, though.” Ross smiles, all teeth. Like a shark. “Why the long face, Stark? You don’t know Peter Parker. Unless you do…”

For a moment, everything hangs on a knife edge, teeters on a precipice: Peter, Tony, the Avengers.

And then FRIDAY announces, _“I’m in,”_ with enough grim satisfaction to match his own, and Tony says, “Cool,” and before his suit has even finished forming around him, he throws Ross through the one-way glass window.

* * *

Peter wakes up to the sound of glass shattering. It doesn’t sound close enough to be his cell-cube-thing, but who knows? His senses have been a mess since he first woke up here.

“Peter!” The voice is getting closer, louder. “Peter, wake up! We need to get out of here! FRIDAY, find me the– ah. Got it.”

There’s a hiss and a click, and then the collar unlocks and falls to the ground.

Peter _screams_. It’s all too much. _Too much too bright too loud–_

Something cradles his head, gentler and warmer than anything he’s felt for days. “Hey, hey, it’s okay, it’s okay. Focus on me. I’m here, I’m right here. Take a breath. Deep breath.”

Peter does, and another, because he suddenly realises his lungs are starving.

“That’s good, that’s good, buddy. Didn’t really think that one through, did I? My bad.”

“Mr Stark?” Peter breathes, cracking one eye open.

“Hi, there.” Mr Stark grins, his hands clasping Peter’s cheeks. He’s in the suit, nanotech gauntlets folded back.

“Wha’re you doin’ here?”

“Kinda hacked into the systems and assaulted the Secretary of State. All that fun stuff.”

“You _what_?”

“Yeah, we need to split. Rhodey’s on his way. Come on, quick, let’s get you out of here.” Mr Stark practically drags Peter off the hard cot, out of the cell, kicking the collar out of his way with a considerable amount of venom.

“What – but–?”

“You hurt at all? Hungry?”

“Are you breaking me out of jail?”

There’s a flash of anger, a clenched jaw. “‘Jail’ implies at least some due process was followed. This was…”

“I tried to call you,” Peter whispers, “but Karen was down and they were everywhere…”

“Stop. This isn’t on you, not at all.”

As they stumble towards the exit, Peter disoriented and hanging off Mr Stark’s shoulders, he notices the shattered one-way mirror, the body lying beneath it.

“Don’t look,” Mr Stark says, and Peter snaps his head back around.

“Is he…?”

“I didn’t kill him.” Mr Stark’s lips twist into something vicious. “I’m going to destroy him. No one touches my kid.”

In spite of everything, Peter manages a grin. “I think that means Pepper won the bet about when you’d file for joint guardianship.”

“Oh, God, shut up.” But Mr Stark laughs and tugs him closer. “How did you even find out about that?”

“Rhodey gossips.”

“Of course he does.”

They’re out of the door now, heading down the corridor. Peter can hear the familiar whine of an Iron Man suit: Rhodey.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, turning his head into Mr Stark’s shoulder.

The man almost stumbles to a halt and looks down at him in shock. “What’s happening? Why are you thanking me?”

Peter hums thoughtfully. “For having my back.”

Mr Stark’s expression softens and he starts walking again, pulls Peter with him. “Always, kid.” He pulls Peter closer into his side. “Hey, have you ever been in a helicopter?”


	5. intruder & snuggles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This isn’t his life. He died, and Tony moved on. He doesn’t belong here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have been TERRIBLE at replying to comments lately, and i'm so sorry. i read and love every single one of them

Peter slips down the stairs, trying to make as little noise as possible. He still doesn’t feel like he quite _belongs_ in the lake house; no matter how many times Mr Stark – _Tony_ – tells him it’s his home too, Peter still feels like a guest. Hence, walking quietly, avoiding asking for things if he doesn’t need to, and generally trying to be as unobtrusive as he can.

He’s hungry, though, and he doesn’t want to be rude and ask when dinner is. Snacks are okay. He can ask for snacks.

“Hey, Mr – Tony?”

Tony’s head pops up from behind the couch, a finger pressed to his lips.

“Sorry,” Peter whispers, moving around to stand in front of the couch. He catches sight of the little shape pressed up against Tony’s side, her hair covering her face.

Right. Morgan.

“What’s up, kid?” Tony says softly, and pats the couch beside him. “Plenty of room on the boat.”

“No, just…looking for some snacks.”

Tony’s lips pull down at the corners, just for a second. “Spidey metabolism, huh? Help yourself to anything in the kitchen. I’ll start cooking once Little Miss returns to the land of the living. Sure you don’t want to join us?”

Peter looks at Morgan, at the family Tony had built without him, and shakes his head.

* * *

Peter gasps awake, fists clenching in his comforter, heart racing. He can’t remember the dream, just flashes – Thanos, the Stones, his legs going numb.

Tony. He needs Tony.

Pepper is away on a business trip, so he doesn’t feel guilty about stumbling down the hall towards the master bedroom. The door is ajar, and he pushes it open, already relaxing at the sight of Tony in bed. It’s just like _before_ , when he’d roll his eyes at Peter’s stammering apologies and talk calming nonsense until he fell back asleep.

Peter’s about to step into the room when he sees a second lump under the blankets, curled against Tony’s chest.

He’s so stupid. It’s not like _before_. It can’t be.

He stumbles backwards, trying to be quiet, but his foot hits the door.

Tony stirs. “Pete?” he rasps, voice thick with sleep.

“Sorry,” Peter whispers. “I didn’t mean – it’s fine.”

“No, it’s okay,” Tony murmurs. “What’s wrong? You wanna hop in?”

Morgan shifts, pops her head out from under the covers. She doesn’t say anything, just stares him down, and Peter suddenly feels like what he is: an intruder.

This isn’t his life. He died, and Tony moved on. He doesn’t belong here.

“No, I just – I don’t–“ Peter bolts back down the hall and collapses in bed, flicking on the bedside lamp to chase away the last shadows of the dream.

He lies awake, half-hoping he’ll hear the sound of footsteps coming towards the bedroom (it doesn’t feel like his bedroom). He doesn’t.

* * *

Peter tiptoes out of the kitchen, hoping he can sneak upstairs without waking anyone. It’s late, and he just wanted to grab a glass of water before at least trying to sleep.

“Pete.”

He jumps, almost drops the glass.

Once again, Mr Stark’s head appears over the back of the couch. He has a book in his hand, a blanket covering his legs.

“What?” Peter squeaks. “Have you been there the whole time?”

“Listening to you blunder your way around the kitchen? Yeah. We need to work on your stealth, kiddo.”

Peter can’t help but laugh. For a second, everything feels normal: just Tony teasing him after a long, hard patrol as they settle down to watch a movie. But then he remembers that they’re in Tony’s house, and there’s a little girl sleeping upstairs that hadn’t existed what was three months ago for him. His smile drops.

“And there’s that face again,” Tony murmurs. He pats the couch beside him. “Come here.”

It’s not a question this time, so Peter does, leaving a few inches of space between them, and picks up a cushion to cradle to his chest. “Hi.”

“Hello,” Tony says, a grin quirking his mouth up.

Peter waits. Tony fixes him with an intense glare that pins him in place, almost like the one he’d worn after the ferry, but this one is softer, somehow.

“I missed you,” Tony starts, “every day. And I know I can’t expect you to be exactly the same – no one is completely fine after what happened, and if they say they are, they’re lying – but I just feel like I still don’t have you back. Not really.”

Peter frowns. “I’m right here.”

“I know that, buddy, but you’re…you’re so quiet all the time. You’re different.”

“So are you!” Peter blurts, and instantly looks down. “Sorry, I didn’t mean–“

“It’s okay,” Tony says. “You’re right. I mean – five years. Be weird if I was the same, right?”

“It wasn’t five years,” Peter whispers. “It – I blinked, and you had grey hair and a house and–“

“And Morgan.”

“Not like that – she’s great, and I get she’s your kid but it’s so _sudden_ for me, and I…I miss how it was before.” Peter hugs the cushion tighter. “I miss you.”

Tony’s silent for a long moment, and Peter worries he might have said too much, but then he puts his book on the coffee table and lifts the blanket up. “Come on.”

“What?”

“Cuddle time.”

“I did _not_ just hear Iron Man say ‘cuddle’.”

“Trying to ease you into the new me. How’s it going so far?”

Peter shifts a little closer. He’s not Morgan; he doesn’t know how much of Tony he’s allowed to take.

“Christ, kid, get over here.” Tony pulls the blanket over them both and throws an arm around his shoulders. “Listen, I’m sorry, Pete. I thought you wanted space. Just for future reference: Morguna would not mind a bit if she had to share me. She’d love someone else in the pile. Make a cuddle puddle.”

Peter snorts. “I just thought…you know, she’s your kid. I didn’t wanna, like, push her out. It’s not fair that her life has to change so suddenly. Not because of me.”

“Ah, okay,” Tony says, something gentle creeping into his tone. “I see where we’ve gone wrong here. You think Morgan’s my only kid.”

Peter freezes.

“My fault, I guess. I built everything up in my head – what I was gonna say when I saw you, what I was gonna do – and I just froze up. Couldn’t say a word. Maybe it was the fact I couldn’t get a word in edgeways, but…”

“Shut up,” Peter grumbles, feeling the rise and fall of Mr Stark’s shoulders as he laughs.

“So, I’m saying it now: you’re my kid, and that gets you an automatic lifetime ticket to snuggle time. I know for a fact you’re an octopus when you sleep. Koala. All of the above.”

“As if you just said ‘snuggle’.”

“Hey, I know the four-year-old lingo.”

“Please never say ‘lingo’ again.”

“I’ll talk how I want, Parker.”

Peter groans.

It’s still and quiet for a long time, and he wonders if Tony’s fallen asleep – until the man turns and kisses the top of his head. “I’m so glad I got you back, kid.”

“I’m glad, too,” Peter murmurs, because he’s seen May so passionate about something as she is about her charity, because Happy doesn’t even try to disguise his fondness anymore, because before he could never have imagined hugging Tony simply for the sake of it. It had always been close calls and injuries and Peter screaming himself awake in the middle of the night. Maybe this isn’t _before_ , but maybe it’s better.

“I do miss my favourite lab assistant,” Tony says. “Science day tomorrow? Pep can take Morgan for a day out. We can order in greasy pizza and I’ll pretend not to notice you taking sips of my coffee when I’m distracted.”

And maybe not everything has to be different. Peter smiles. “That sounds great.”


	6. turned into a toddler (pt. 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony's amazed his voice is coming out so calm when his brain has practically shut down; Peter, his Peter, his sassy, smartass teenage Peter is a baby.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we're back on the fluff for this one!!

_“Hey, Mr Stark!”_

“Go back to your Spanish class!” Tony calls, letting off a blast that bounces right off the guy’s shield. Right. Magic.

_“Mr Rogers sent the alert out!”_

“He only does that because he doesn’t realise you’re still in school. You know you’re supposed to ignore it.”

_“Well, too late,”_ Peter chirps. _“Oh, hey, Doctor Strange!”_

Tony lands beside Strange, waiting until Peter does the same. “Doc, give the kid the lowdown. I didn’t understand half of what you said.”

Strange sighs. “This is an apprentice sorcerer. He’s young and untrained, so his spells are volatile. Try to avoid getting hit, if at all possible.”

Peter nods.

“And I know you hardly need the reminder, kid, but don’t damage him too badly. He needs to face judgment at Kamar Taj.”

“You got it, Mister Doctor!”

“He’s just like you,” Strange mutters, and Tony barks out a laugh.

For a while, the fight goes okay. They don’t land any hits, but neither does the sorcerer. It’s only when one of Tony’s blasts lands slightly off-target that everything goes to shit.

The hit knocks the sorcerer off his perch, down to a roof below. His shield flickers and dies, and Tony lands beside him, resisting the urge to blast him into oblivion: Strange wants him alive.

The sorcerer looks up, his face twisting into a snarling rage, and throws out a hand. Tony staggers back, collapses onto his ass, while the sorcerer conjures a ball of light in the same hand.

“Okay,” Tony says, mostly to himself. “So you’re mad.”

Before he can do anything, there’s a _hiss-thwip_ behind him.

“Mr Stark!” Peter yells, throwing a web towards the sorcerer and yanking his arm around. The light is released, but in a different direction.

Tony can only watch in horror as the spell hits Peter square in the chest. The kid stumbles backwards, blinking, and in the next second he’s gone, only his suit left in a crumpled heap on the ground. 

“No!” Tony roars, and leaps to his feet, but Strange gets there first. He throws out a lasso of orange light and yanks the distracted sorcerer to the floor before sending him through a portal. Tony doesn’t know where. He doesn’t care, either.

He stares forward for a long moment, breathing hard; he can’t turn around, can’t face what just happened. Peter _vanished_ , disappeared into thin air.

There’s a happy shriek behind him.

_“Is that a kid?”_ Sam says. _“Did anyone else hear that?”_

Tony risks a glance over his shoulder. Peter’s empty suit isn’t a flat puddle; it’s a mound, and it’s moving. “Oh, no,” he breathes.

_“What’s ‘oh no’?”_

“FRIDAY, mute.” Tony stumbles the few steps forward, reaching a tentative hand out. A year ago, he would have called this impossible, but now he has a wizard on his team and he’s not really sure of anything anymore. The suit squeals again. “Peter?” he says slowly. “…kid?”

The suit wriggles, and a head pops out of the neckline. Not a normal-sized head, though; no, this is a tiny tiny head, practically drowning in the Spider-Man mask covering it.

Holding his breath, Tony gently pulls the mask off to reveal a head of curly brown hair and wide brown eyes. The kid – because it is a kid, one that can’t be older than three – grins when he sees Tony. He’d know that smile anywhere.

“Peter?” Tony says again. “Christ, kid – hang on, let me just–“ He reaches out to pick Peter – tiny, toddler-sized Peter – up, but the kid shakes his head and shrinks further into the suit with a whine. “Oh – you don’t have any clothes on under there, do you? Yikes, okay. Well, we can just – I’ll wrap the suit around you like a blanket, sound good?” He’s amazed his voice is coming out so calm when his brain has practically shut down; Peter, his Peter, his sassy, smartass teenage Peter is a _baby_. “Strange? Strange!”

“No need to yell,” Strange says, appearing from nowhere. “What–? Ah.”

“‘Ah’ is right,” Tony growls, shifting Peter so he’s holding him more securely. “Change him back, right now.”

“I can’t,” Strange says, and Tony’s heart drops. “Not this minute, anyway. I’ll need to find the spell in one of hundreds of books in my library, or get the answer from our mutual friend. This will take time, I’m afraid.”

“We don’t have time, Strange. Spider-Man is a f– a freaking kid!”

“Spy-Man!” Peter says brightly.

“Yeah, buddy! Spider-Man!” Tony grins before turning back to Strange, who’s watching them with a knowing smirk on his face. “And what am I supposed to do while you figure that out?”

“I’m sure you’ll be fine.” And Strange disappears without another word.

“Dick,” Tony mutters. “Fri, call Happy.”

_“Sure thing.”_

_“Boss? I saw the fight on the news. Everything okay?”_

“Yep.” Tony hopes his voice doesn’t betray the truth. “Yeah, all good. Listen, Hap, I need you to go shopping.”

_“For anything specific?”_

“Baby clothes. No, well – toddler ones. And toys. Maybe a chair – I don’t know how long he’s going to be like this. Do toddlers need different food? And–“

_“What. The fuck?”_

Tony sighs. “Long story short: the kid took a hit, and now he’s pint-sized.”

_“What the fuck?”_

“Kid needs clothes, Happy.”

_“Yeah, I’m going, I’m going.”_ There’s another, quieter, _“What the fuck?”_ before he hangs up.

Tony sighs. “Comms, FRIDAY.”

_“Tony? You went quiet for a minute there. What’s your status?”_

“I’ll, um, meet you guys back at the Tower,” he says numbly. 

Steve pauses. _“Are you sure? Is everything okay?”_

“Everything’s fine. See you there. Mute.” Tony looks down; Peter is engrossed with the spider emblem on the suit’s chest, but he glances up and smiles brightly, like seeing Tony is the best thing in the world. “Shit.”

* * *

They reach the Tower without incident – well, barring the moment Peter decided he was going to wriggle out of Tony’s arms, still wrapped in the suit, and almost plummeted to the streets below. By the time he lands on the penthouse balcony, Tony’s certain he’s experienced multiple heart attacks all at once. Peter coos happily and wraps his arms around Tony’s neck, like he hadn’t almost pancaked himself in the middle of Manhattan.

“So even as a baby – child – thing, you’re out to send me to an early grave, huh?”

“Baby-child-thing?”

Tony jumps, clutching Peter to his chest.

“Just me, man.” Rhodey steps forward, his face pinched in concern. “Steve sent me up to check on you. Said you were acting weird.”

“Right.” Tony takes a deep breath. Just Rhodey. It’s just Rhodey. “Uh, FRIDAY, lock down this floor. Only Pep, Happy and Rhodey can come in or out.”

_“And yourself and Itsy-Bitsy, Boss?”_

“Yeah.”

“Tony?” Rhodey’s eyes travel down to the blue and red bundle in his arms. “That’s not…”

“Meet Spider-Man,” Tony says with a sigh. “Or Spider-Tot now, I guess. Strange said it could be a while before he can get him back to his usual teenage self, so–“

“He’s a teenager?” Rhodey says, but the look Tony shoots him must convey the utter depth of his exhaustion, so he lets it go. “Looks, uh, pretty attached to you.”

“Yeah, well, he’s never one for good judgment on the best of days.” Still, Tony can’t bring himself to put the kid down, can’t shake the memory of the heart-stopping terror when he’d thought Peter was gone. 

“Looks like the feeling’s mutual,” Rhodey presses. 

“He’s a good kid,” Tony says, “and now he’s tiny and defenceless and – shit, where the hell is Happy?”

“That’s important because?”

“I sent him shopping. Baby shopping. Toys and clothes and – and a freaking chair. God, I don’t know what I’m doing. I can’t take care of a kid. I can’t even take care of _myself_ , never mind a baby.”

“Hey,” Rhodey says gently, “calm down, man. You got this. Want me to hold him for a minute?”

Tony shakes his head, instinctively holding Peter closer. He knows it’s only Rhodey, for crying out loud, but his brain just won’t allow him to _let go_. 

Rhodey just smirks. “Yeah, you’ll be fine. Do the team know?”

“I think Wilson might be able to take an educated guess, but other than that, I don’t think so.”

“Okay, so we can put the suit away as soon as Happy gets here with some clothes, and that’ll protect his identity. Just…” Rhodey sighs.

“What?”

“He does look a lot like you. If you pulled up some of your baby pictures now, I bet they’d be similar.”

“That’s a road we’re not going down,” Tony says firmly. “Besides, Peter’s had blood work done here before. If there was anything weird or interesting, FRIDAY would’ve flagged it up.”

“Peter, huh?” Rhodey freezes. “Peter! Your intern, Peter!”

“Yes, that Peter,” Tony says tiredly, and takes a seat on the couch, being careful not to jostle the kid. Even so, Peter stirs, lifting his head off Tony’s shoulder. “Hey, buddy. Ears burning?”

“H’llo,” Peter mumbles.

“This is Rhodey. You know him, he’s cool.” Peter hides his face in Tony’s neck. “Oh, we’re feeling shy? That’s okay. It’s not like you were just trying to get real friendly with the sidewalk.”

“You didn’t carry him here?”

“I wasn’t getting on the Quinjet when he’s like this!” 

“What, small and cute?”

“…vulnerable,” Tony says after a pause. “He’s – relying on me.”

Rhodey’s amused expression softens into something like pride.

Peter interrupts the moment by putting his little hand on Tony’s face, fingers dangerously close to his nostrils. “Hung’y.”

* * *

Tony throws together mac and cheese, deciding it’s soft and easy to eat, Rhodey cooks some peas, and Peter balances in the arm that Tony isn’t stirring with.

“Okay,” Tony says. “Look, food! Nice food.”

Happy walks in – or staggers, under the weight of several shopping bags. Peter hides behind Tony’s head, watching him suspiciously.

“You know Happy, kid,” Tony says. “Christ, Hap, how much did you buy?”

“Well,” Happy gasps, “you sounded panicked, so I panic-bought half the store. We got, uh, baby chair – easy assembly. Clothes. Kid Legos. Oh, a carry-sling-thingy.” He catches sight of Peter and stops. “Oh, shit. You really weren’t kidding.”

“No,” Tony says evenly, “and I’m trying not to think too hard about it. I’m holding myself together by a thread here.”

“Is it…” Happy swallows. “Permanent?”

“No! God, no, but we’re waiting on Doctor Weird to find a way to change him back.” Tony puts his spoon down. “Rhodey, watch the food. Happy, put the chair together. Which bag has the clothes in?”

Happy, already wrestling with a large cardboard box, nudges the bag closer with his toe. 

“Right.” Tony looks down at Peter, still swimming in his Spider-Man suit. “Let’s get you changed, huh?”

* * *

“Right,” Tony says. He looks down at his shirt, then back at Peter. “Right. Okay.”

“He even got it in your hair.”

“I’m aware of that, Rhodes, thank you.”

“He’s spotless.”

“Yeah, I can see that.”

“You lost a food fight with a _baby_.”

“Hogan, I’ll fire you if you don’t shut the hell up.” Tony runs his fingers through his hair, finding copious amounts of cheese sauce and – somehow – peas.

Peter claps his sticky hands together and smiles. He’s wearing an Iron Man shirt, despite Rhodey’s protests of, “Propaganda!” and there somehow isn’t a speck on it. Teenage Peter is a messier eater.

“Adorable,” Tony tells him. “You are so hearing about this when you’re back to normal, you little monster.”

He pretends not to see Rhodey smirking at him.

* * *

_“Stark?”_

“Hey, Doc. Just wondering how you’re getting on with…de-babyfying the kid.”

Strange sighs. _“I don’t think even the apprentice knows what he did – whatever spell he meant to cast, it wasn’t that one. I’m going to have to start looking in books, but it’s going to take time. Are you coping?”_

“Kid’s alive, if that’s what you mean.” Tony glances down at Peter, curled up in his lap, and swallows down a sudden rush of fondness. “I’m not entirely terrible.”

_“Glad to hear it. I’ll call you with any updates.”_

“Hang on – before you go.”

_“Yes?”_

“He’s not really talking a lot – he’s being shy, too. I just – I normally can’t get him to shut up. He’s usually running his mouth at a million miles a minute.”

_“Careful, you almost sound concerned,”_ Strange drawls. _“My best guess would be he’s either in shock – he’s a teenager that’s suddenly stuck in a child’s body –_ or _he’s embarrassed.”_

“…oh,” Tony says. “Didn’t think of that. Thanks.”

Strange hangs up.

“Wonderful.” Tony tosses his phone onto the coffee table and pulls a blanket over Peter. “I think you might have the right idea, kiddo. Nap time sounds awesome.”

_Shit_. He’d forgotten to tell Happy to buy a bed.

“Sleeping on the couch it is, then.”

Peter sighs in his sleep, and Tony decides, right there and then, that this is going to be the best nap he ever has.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tomorrow: part 2, overprotective


	7. overprotective (pt. 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You don’t think you’re being a tiny bit…overprotective?”
> 
> “Look at him,” Tony snaps, thrusting his chest towards Rhodey. Peter giggles, his legs swaying with the sudden movement. “He is small and – and tiny, and I’m not letting him out of my sight until Strange can change him back. Maybe not even then. If this is the only way I can keep him safe, then so be it!”
> 
> Rhodey turns around and walks towards the kitchen. “I’m gonna get you a coffee.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this is a little late, i was having a valentine's date with my dog and some domino's lmao. if there are any typos or random keysmashes, i'm blaming it on her dropping her toy on my keyboard for attention

“Tony?” Pepper is shaking him awake.

“Oh…” He yawns. “Hi, hon.”

“Where’s Peter? FRIDAY said he was in here.”

“About that…” Tony lifts the blanket to reveal the mop of curls resting on his chest.

“Oh, my God,” she breathes. “What happened?”

“Rogue wizard. Strange is looking for a way to change it back, but he doesn’t know how long it’ll be, so…babysitting.”

Peter grumbles and lifts his head, thumb still stuck in his mouth. Pepper melts.

“Hi, sweetheart,” she coos, perching on the couch beside Tony. “Did you have a good nap?”

Peter nods, blinking sleepily.

“He’s not very talkative,” Tony says. “Strange thinks it might be shock – sixteen-year-old brain in a two-year-old body.”

“Have you told his aunt?” Pepper says, and Tony’s thoughts screech to a halt.

“Uh…”

“ _Tony_!”

“She’s away!” Tony protests. “It’s not like she can do much, and he’d be staying here even if this hadn’t happened.”

“You don’t think she’d like to _know_ , at least?”

“Not yet,” Tony says. “If it becomes a problem, then yeah. But for now the outlook is it’s easily solvable, so I’m going to wait.”

“Okay.” Pepper kicks off her heels and settles down beside him on the couch.

“What’re you doing?” 

“Joining you.” She ruffles Peter’s hair, then frowns up at Tony. “You have something in your–“

Tony sighs. “Yeah, I know.”

* * *

“Where’s Peter?”

Tony jolts awake before he’s even registered Pepper’s question. “What?”

“He’s not here!” Pepper’s already on her feet, searching around the couches.

_Oh, shit_. What if someone had come in and taken Peter while they were sleeping? He wouldn’t be able to fight like this; all it would take would be a hand over his mouth, another one to lift him up and away. What if someone came looking for revenge on Tony Stark, and decided a defenceless child would be a better target instead?

“FRIDAY?” he gasps, already halfway to the kitchen. “Fri, where is he? Where’s the kid?”

_“He is in the living room.”_

Tony skids to a halt. “No, I was just – Pepper couldn’t–“

“Tony!” Pepper shrieks, and just like that, he’s sprinting back down the hall.

“What? What is it?”

Pepper points wordlessly up at the ceiling. Because Peter is _crawling on the ceiling_.

“Okay,” Tony says, only a little bit hysterical, “okay, so Spidey powers still intact. That’s cool. Totally, totally cool.”

Peter notices Tony and points, squealing happily.

“Yeah! Yeah, hi, it’s me. You want to come down? Please?”

Peter, in all fairness, does as he’s told. He lets go of the ceiling and _drops_. Tony moves fast, but FRIDAY is faster. A suit bursts through the wall and holds its arms out just in time for Peter to fall into them.

“Oh, God!” Pepper gasps, and Tony can hear her staggering to the closest chair.

“Oopsie,” Peter says as the suit hands him over.

“Oops? Pretty big oops there, kiddo.” Tony makes sure his grip on Peter is firm, tries to control his breathing. “Pep, when you’re done having a heart attack – there’s a baby carrier in one of the shopping bags. Can you get it for me?”

“Yeah,” she breathes, “yeah. Good – good idea.”

“I am full of them,” Tony says, “like never letting this one out of my sight again. You’re grounded, Pete, you hear that? Baby-grounded.”

“Oopsie,” Peter says again. 

“Yeah, yeah, oops.”

“Here,” Pepper says, holding out the baby sling. “How does this work?”

“Uhh, feet through those holes – this way, I think.” Tony grasps Peter under the armpits and holds him at arm’s length while Pepper wrestles with the sling. “And then it’s like a – a reverse backpack. Over the shoulders – yeah.”

“Never ask me about having kids again.”

“Look, ours probably won’t stick to walls. Probably.” Tony checks the straps are tight around the kid. “You’re a _menace._ I can’t even call this teenage rebellion.”

“Terrible twos,” Pepper says.

“That’ll be it.” Tony sits on the couch. “You better not need the toilet during the night, kiddo. Or what’s left of the night, anyway.”

Peter waves a tiny hand and yawns.

“Yeah, sounds good.”

* * *

When Tony wakes up, Pepper is already gone and Rhodey is standing over him, looking from the hole in the wall to the suit still standing sentry to Peter strapped to his chest and back again.

“I’m not even gonna ask.”

“Only way I can keep an eye on him,” Tony says. “Breakfast? Actually, I’d better take him to the toilet first.” He stands, groaning at the extra weight.

“You need help getting him out of that?”

“Nope. And he’s going right back in once he’s done.”

Rhodey just raises one eyebrow.

“What?”

“You don’t think you’re being a tiny bit…overprotective?”

“Look at him,” Tony snaps, thrusting his chest towards Rhodey. Peter giggles, his legs swaying with the sudden movement. “He is small and – and _tiny_ , and I’m not letting him out of my sight until Strange can change him back. Maybe not even then. If this is the only way I can keep him safe, then so be it!”

Rhodey turns around and walks towards the kitchen. “I’m gonna get you a coffee.”

* * *

Tony stares at his phone all morning, half hoping Strange will call, half dreading it. Peter entertains himself by pushing Cheerios around on the table, as fascinated by them as his teenage self would be with quantum physics or biomechanics. Part of Tony wonders if there’s any of Peter in there, or if everything regressed when the spell hit.

“But that wouldn’t make sense,” he murmurs to himself, playing with Peter’s hair, “because you still have your powers, right? So it’s not like this is your two-year-old self; it’s you _now_ , just two. God, that doesn’t make sense either. Stupid wizards.”

Peter nods.

“Did you actually understand that or are you just being nice?”

Another nod.

“Yeah, trick question. You’re always nice. Too nice for me.”

Peter sniffs and scrubs a hand across his face. 

“Hey, don’t do that, you’ll get boogers everywhere.” Tony tries to crane his head around the baby sling, only to find, to his horror, that Peter is crying. “Oh, kid! What’s wrong?”

“Hate this,” Peter mumbles. “Wanna be normal again.”

_Shit,_ Tony thinks with a flash of mortification; he hasn’t been keeping Peter in the loop at all. “You will be, real soon, I promise. Strange is working on it. He just has to find the right spell. He’s going in the forbidden section of the library.”

“R’stricted,” Peter corrects him.

“Well, _excuse_ me. I made a _Harry Potter_ reference, can’t you just be happy with that?”

Peter giggles, trying to wipe away his tears, but he just ends up smearing them all over his face.

“Here,” Tony says, pulling a tissue out of his pocket and wiping the kid’s face. God, he’s turning into a suburban dad. 

“Th’nks.” Peter sniffles again. “You don’t have t’look after me.”

“I’m not letting you out of this, if that’s what you’re asking.” Tony smiles. “I don’t mind, Pete. Well, apart from the heart attacks. This is a strange moment of clarity, kiddo. Is it like – sometimes you feel like you, but most of the time, baby instincts take over?”

Peter nods.

“Don’t worry about it. Dumbledore’s gonna sort this all out.”

“‘S’the worst character.”

“Exactly.” Tony runs his fingers through Peter’s hair again, basking in how reassuring it feels. They sit in silence for a minute, until Peter kicks his heels against Tony’s stomach. 

“Wee-wee.”

* * *

“So.”

Tony looks up; Peter is engrossed in a Lego set, and he figures he can trust the kid not to try eating the pieces. “Yes, honeybear?”

“Did everyone know about Peter being…”

“Spider-Man?” Tony grins. “Two people isn’t exactly _everyone_.”

“You know what I mean. Pepper and Happy knew.”

“I wanted it to be up to him. And we never found a good time.”

“So, him being turned into a baby was a good time?”

“Not necessarily, but it’s done now. Pepper knows everything anyway, and Happy had to look after him in Germany.”

“He was in Germany,” Rhodey breathes, like he’s just remembered. “Jesus Christ, Tony. Why’d you make a kid into a superhero?”

“No – what? He was Spider-Man before I ever met him. I was planning on giving him a helping hand anyway, but then Germany happened, and he got hurt, so I freaked and pushed him away, then he nearly got hurt _worse_ , and I tried to shut him down. But he…wouldn’t stop, and he could’ve died, so I – I couldn’t keep him at an arm’s length anymore. I’m responsible for him. Plus, his aunt yelled at me for nearly three hours – that’s enough to put the fear of God in anyone.”

Rhodey smirks.

“What?”

“See? Overprotective.”

“Shut up.”

* * *

Tony’s cooking dinner when a portal opens in his kitchen and Strange steps through, book in hand.

“Oh,” Tony says. “You worked it out?”

Strange nods, looking at Peter strapped into his baby sling. “I see you managed to keep him alive for more than twenty-four hours. I’m impressed.”

“Just barely.”

“Are you ready?” Strange starts to flip through the book. “I assume you want to get him out of that.”

“Yeah.” Tony looks down at Peter, in miniature jeans, a T-shirt that would barely it around Rogers’ arms. “Let me get him some clothes as well.”

Strange raises his eyebrows. “Are you putting this off?”

“No.”

“Sure.” Strange opens a portal into what looks like Tony’s closet and reaches his hand through, pulling out a black shirt and a pair of sweatpants. “There. Clothes. I do have other places to be, you know.”

“Right, yeah. Okay.” Tony unstraps the baby sling, ignoring Peter’s questioning look. “Quick change of clothes, buddy. Nothing to worry about.”

“Sad?” Peter says quietly.

“No.” Tony manages a quick smile, pulls Peter’s shirt up over his head. “You’re gonna be back to normal soon. Normal, teenage you.”

Peter pouts, but lets Tony dress him without complaint.

“This won’t hurt,” Strange says, clearly sensing Tony’s reluctance. “It might be disorienting, but that’s all.”

“Okay.” Tony kisses the top of Peter’s head and sets him down on the couch before standing back. “Don’t worry, buddy. We’re gonna sort this all out.”

“Right.” Strange clears his throat and shakes his sleeves up. “Won’t be a moment. Just, uh…”

“Have you done this before?”

“Yes, I regularly deal with people being turned into toddlers.”

“Was that a–?”

He breaks off with a yelp when Strange throws a handful of sparks at the couch. Peter sneezes, blinks, and suddenly he’s _back_.

“…kid?” Tony says warily.

“Whoa,” Peter mumbles. He looks around for a moment, squinting, and suddenly leaps to his feet. “Mr Stark! Where’s the guy gone? How did we–? Did he teleport us here? Doctor Strange! Wait…” He tugs at the hem of Tony’s shirt. “Where’s my suit? What happened?”

“You don’t remember?” 

“Remember what? The guy hit me with something and – did he give me amnesia? How long has it been? It’s dark out!”

Yep, there’s his Peter: hyperverbal, excitable, teenage Peter. “Just a day, buddy. Don’t freak out.”

“But what happened?” Peter insists, and Tony has to swallow down a strange emotion at the fact that the kid just _accepted_ it and moved on, trusted him without question.

“You got, uh, babyfied, Web-doodle. Metamorphosis of the toddler variety.”

“I what?” Peter frowns. “Wait…I think I scared Pepper. Oh, my God, I’m so sorry! Please tell her I’m sorry.”

Tony laughs. “Oh, you’re sorry for that? Not nearly making me drop you on Fifth Avenue?”

“That too.” Peter frowns. “Do you have something in your hair?”

It’s the first time Tony thinks he’s heard Strange laugh.


	8. revealed secret

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “We want Spider-Man. We want his name, where he lives, where he works, who he knows.”
> 
> “Yeah?” Mr Stark snorts. “You’re not special."
> 
> The leader straightens up slowly, his eyes narrowing. He nods. “Hit him again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry to the person (they know who they are) who was assured the next chapter would contain harley. this got finished first my bad lol

“What’s up, kid?”

Peter freezes. He’d slouched his way into the car expecting Happy, but instead he got actual Mr Stark. “…hi. Um. Hi, Mr Stark.”

“Hi, yourself.” Mr Stark meets his eyes in the rear view mirror. “What’s up?”

“Nothing.” In reality, Ned had been off sick and Flash had been an asshole all day, but it’s only been a few months since homecoming, and Peter isn’t about to unload a week’s worth of shitty high school drama on him. Mr Stark puts up with enough from him; Peter’s still waiting for the other shoe to drop, for Mr Stark to get bored and for things to go back to how they were before.

“Okay, so is it something serious or nothing a burger can’t fix?”

“A burger would be great. If – if that’s okay.”

Mr Stark grins – they’ve been getting less sharp, more genuine lately. “‘Course. I’m hungry.”

They end up at a McDonald’s drive through, rock music playing quietly through the speakers.

“What do you want?” Mr Stark asks abruptly, like he’d almost forgotten.

Peter ignores the hunger that’s been gnawing at his stomach since not long after lunch. “Just a cheeseburger is fine.”

“Uh-huh.” Mr Stark rolls down his window. “I’ll have three double cheeseburgers, please, all with fries, and a large box of nuggets. And two Cokes. Yeah, thank you.”

Peter nearly chokes on air. “Mr Stark!”

“What? One of the burgers is mine.”

“You didn’t have to–“

“Kid, I live with Steve Rogers. I know what a fast metabolism needs.”

As if on cue, Peter’s stomach rumbles.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

Peter shakes his head. “That’s not even how you order at McDonald’s–“

“Well, I don’t _speak_ McDonald,” Mr Stark retorts, but it isn’t harsh.

“Ah, yes, that well-known language, McDonald – I think I can take it as an elective next year.”

Mr Stark starts to laugh. He’s still laughing when they pull up to the window and the open-mouthed server hands over their order. He only stops laughing when they find an empty parking lot and he motions for Peter to climb in the front seat so he can hand him his food. Happy never lets him sit up front.

“It really wasn’t that funny, Mr Stark.”

“Maybe not,” Mr Stark agrees, “but it’s very entertaining when you actually behave like a teenager.”

Peter pretends to scowl and eats a fry.

It starts off as just a ringing in his ears, a tickle on the back of his neck. Peter frowns and looks around, searching for what the source of it could be.

“Kid?”

Peter looks down, realising he’s gripping one of his cardboard boxes a little too hard. “Sorry, I just – bad feeling–“

Someone knocks on the window. Peter jumps. Mr Stark’s face darkens.

It’s a man, dressed in dark clothes and wearing a friendly smile. Peter cringes away, his senses screaming. This is bad. So bad.

“Hey, can we talk to you?”

“Mr Stark?” Peter says.

“Out of the car,” the man calls, as he’s joined by another, and another, until six of them are surrounding the Audi.

They can’t get out of the car. Something bad is about to happen; Peter just knows. “Mr _Stark_ ,” he whispers.

“Stay here,” Mr Stark says firmly.

“What–? No!”

“Parker!”

Too late. Peter opens his door and scrambles out, pressing himself against the side of the car. Mr Stark stalks around the hood until he’s standing beside him.

“Don’t say a word,” Mr Stark hisses, before turning to the men. “Gentlemen, can I help you?”

“Yeah, we think you can, actually. We’d like a word back at our place.”

Mr Stark rolls his eyes. “Predictable, but fine. The kid stays here.”

“Who is he?” one of them asks.

“Just an intern,” Mr Stark says stiffly. Peter tries to hide his flinch.

“Intern, huh? Stark Industries employee benefits must be even better than we thought. Going for burgers with the boss?”

“Kid,” Mr Stark says, a warning in his tone, “wait here. Call Happy after five minutes.”

“I’m not–“

Mr Stark ignores him, glaring daggers at the men. “He’s a kid. Let him go. You only want me.”

“Yeah, we _did_ ,” another guy says, “except you seem pretty eager to get him out of harm’s way. Why’s that, huh?”

“Get in the car,” Mr Stark says. “Lock it. Wait for Happy.”

“Mr Stark–“

“How about this instead?” The first man reaches behind his back and pulls out a gun.

Peter instantly short-circuits. That’s a _real gun_ , and he doesn’t have his suit, and neither does Mr Stark, and it’s going to be like watching Ben die all over again.

“Both of you come with us, or I shoot the kid in the foot. Then the knee, then the stomach, and finally the shoulder. If you still feel like trying your luck, I do it all over again on the other side of his body. Your move, Stark.”

Mr Stark takes half a step to the side, between Peter and the gun. “You so much as _touch_ the kid, and I’ll rain seven kinds of hell on you.”

“And if you cooperate, it won’t be necessary.” The gun beckons. “This way.”

* * *

They end up huddled in the back of a van, Peter squashed in the corner while Mr Stark scowls every time the men so much as shift or look in his direction. Peter had thought he’d seen him mad before, but nothing compares to this raw, burning fury.

“You going to tell us who the kid is?”

“Intern.”

“And what else is he?”

Mr Stark glares. The whole of the side of his body is pressed up against Peter, stopping him from sliding down the bench and closer to their guards. It’s strange; normally, Mr Stark avoids physical contact like the plague. He keeps Peter at an arm’s length, in every sense of the word. This, while unfamiliar, is oddly comforting.

“Whatever,” someone else mutters. “It’s not important.”

“It might be.”

“Guess we’ll find out how much he likes the kid, won’t we?” One of the men smirks. “How much he’s willing to do to keep him safe.”

Peter recoils. Mr Stark wraps his fingers around his wrist and squeezes. _Don’t worry_ , it says. _Everything’s going to be fine_.

Peter’s senses say otherwise.

* * *

“Come on,” the leader says sharply, gesturing for them to move out of the van.

Mr Stark goes first, every inch of him tense. As soon as Peter has both feet on the ground, he pulls him close by the sleeve of his hoodie and doesn’t let go. “Let me make this very clear,” he says. “The kid is staying with me, and none of you are going to even look at him.”

Peter wishes he had it in him to protest, but he’s never been in a situation like this before, not when he’s just him. If he had his suit, he could get them out of here in a moment, but he’s just Peter Parker. Just Tony Stark’s intern. Just a kid.

They’re led into an empty house. Mr Stark doesn’t even glance at Peter, just stares straight ahead as they’re marched through the deserted rooms and down into a dark basement.

“Take a seat,” someone says, and yanks Peter out of Mr Stark’s grip, forcing him into a chair. He goes without a fight, afraid of showing his strength. Another man pulls his arms behind his back, locks heavy shackles around his wrists. He could break them easily, but he _can’t_.

“We appreciate you joining us, Stark.” The men spread out in a ring around Mr Stark, who’s been cuffed to a chair across the room from Peter.

“Not like you gave me much of a choice,” Mr Stark retorts. “Threatening to shoot my – intern.” He stumbles, just barely, but Peter notices.

The leader nods curtly and one of the men lunges forward, punching him in the mouth. Peter flinches at the sharp thud.

“…ow,” Mr Stark drawls.

“We need some information from you, Stark.”

“Don’t they always?”

“We are…entrepreneurs. Small time, but we have a benefactor. He’s had a few incidents in the last couple of months, where our projects have been interrupted.” The leader steps forward, leaning down to stare Mr Stark in the face. “Interrupted by someone we think you know quite well. All you have to do is give us his name, and you and the kid can go right back to your burgers.”

Mr Stark rolls his eyes, but his jaw is clenched. Something bad is coming. Ice crawls up Peter’s spine.

He knows what they’re talking about. Tracking down a loose batch of the Vulture’s weapons had led him to a much larger operation, except he hadn’t felt like he had enough proof to bring it up to Mr Stark. Everything seemed to be separate, isolated incidents, except the MO was always the same. The most he’d been able to get was a name: Kingpin.

“We want Spider-Man. We want his name, where he lives, where he works, who he knows.”

“Yeah?” Mr Stark snorts. “You’re not special. I’ve been trying to track down that little shit since he appeared on YouTube. No fucking luck. He’s skittish as hell. I’ve never seen his face. I don’t even know his name.”

Peter holds his breath, watching them as if in slow-motion. Mr Stark just lied for him, with ease, without a second thought.

The leader straightens up slowly, his eyes narrowing. He nods. “Hit him again.”

* * *

It goes on for what seems like hours. Mr Stark’s head snaps from side to side with the force of each punch, but he barely makes a sound of discomfort. Peter, on the other hand, breaks after a few minutes: he yells, he begs, he threatens, pleads, tries to bargain. None of them spare him so much as a glance.

He can break the cuffs, but he needs to get them away from Mr Stark first – and he needs to do it soon, because his hands are starting to go numb.

Mr Stark drops his head onto his chest, breathing hard.

“Come on, Stark. Give us Spider-Man. We don’t have to do this.”

“I told you–“

“Yeah, with a suit like that? You expect us to believe you’ve never met him?”

“What do you want with him?” Mr Stark forces out. Blood trickles from his split lip. “Gonna take him out for a nice dinner? Thank him for his service to the city?”

The leader laughs. “Almost. We’re going to take him somewhere no one can hear his screams, and then, Stark? Then we’re going to make him wish he’d never been born. We know a few people who’ll be interested in finding out how he works, if you catch my drift. Or maybe they’ll just take him apart, piece by piece. Who knows? Why do you even care? You said yourself you don’t know him. You don’t owe him shit, if that’s true.”

He’s right, Peter realises. Mr Stark doesn’t owe him anything. He doesn’t have to be here, cuffed to a chair, beaten bloody just to keep Peter’s identity safe. It’s Peter’s fault this is happening, and he has to get them out.

Mr Stark swallows, still avoiding Peter’s gaze.

“All right,” one of the men mutters. “Start with the kid. Get creative.”

“Don’t touch him!” Mr Stark snaps, lifting his head with a sudden burst of furious energy. “He’s a fucking _kid_ , you–!” He breaks off when the leader drives a punch into his ribs.

“What’re you gonna do, tied to a chair?” someone laughs. “Careful, Stark, you’re going soft.”

It’s now or never. He has to do this before they hurt him too badly.

“I’m Spider-Man!” Peter cries.

All eyes in the room turn to him. Mr Stark glares daggers.

“What’d you say?”

“I…” Peter looks away. “I’m Spider-Man.”

“He’s not Spider-Man,” Mr Stark says shortly. “He’s a kid.”

“No, keep going, kid.” The leader is staring at him with interest.

“ _Peter_ ,” Mr Stark snarls. He’s not angry, Peter realises. He’s terrified.

“Spider-Man, huh? That why Stark keeps you around?”

_The only reason, probably_. Peter swallows and looks down, waiting until they turn back towards Mr Stark. He rolls his wrists, clenches his fists.

“Not just an intern then, Stark,” someone jeers. “Guess you’re not going soft after all.”

“This saves us a lot of trouble.”

“Let him go,” Mr Stark says quietly. “Come on, he’s fifteen – we can forget any of this happened. You don’t want to hurt a kid.”

“Yeah, there’s the rub, Stark. We _really_ do. You can leave, if you want. This little shit sticking his nose in our business is nothing to do with you.”

“Not an option.”

“All right. Get comfy. We’re going to take our time with this.”

The men turn towards Peter, and he snaps the cuffs and leaps to his feet in a fraction of a second. He darts across the room, throwing one man into the wall and punching another square in the jaw. The leader scrabbles for his gun, so Peter drives an elbow into his solar plexus. Two more go down in a matter of seconds, and he leaps across the room to break Mr Stark’s cuffs open.

The man’s eyes widen. “Kid–“

Peter spins and kicks the approaching man in the stomach, hard. The knife in his hand clatters to the floor.

Something grabs him by the shoulders and he yelps, but his danger sense doesn’t twinge and it’s just Mr Stark, nostrils flared. “What the hell was that?”

“I–“

“What the _fuck_ were you thinking?”

“They were hurting you!” Peter cries. “I just – I couldn’t let them.”

“That’s exactly what you needed to do,” Mr Stark hisses. “You go around giving your identity out like you’re on commission!”

“They were torturing you!”

“I know!” Mr Stark shouts. “And I didn’t want them to find out who you are! You notice how I didn’t say anything?”

“Well, it distracted them, didn’t it? We got out?”

“At the expense of you. And that’s…” Mr Stark breaks off, looks away, clears his throat. “That is not an option, do you understand? There are things I have to protect, Peter, people that – losing them is not an option, and I don’t give a shit how hurt I get.”

It hangs in the air between them for a moment, the uncomfortable sense of someone stripping their soul bare, throwing their deepest secret out into the world for all to see.

“What – me?”

“Yes.” Mr Stark laughs, wet and choked. “Yes, you, kid.”

“I thought you thought I was annoying. I mean, I’m just a kid, and you’re, you know, Iron Man.”

“You’re _Spider-Man_. And not entirely terrible to have around.”

Peter recognises the affection underneath the joking words, wonders how long it’s gone right over his head. Mr Stark wants him around, wants to keep him safe.

“Thank you,” he says, “for protecting me. Or trying to. Sorry I messed it up.”

“Yeah, you never make it easy, do you?” They start towards the basement stairs, Mr Stark grunting as he moves. “We need to have a talk, kiddo, about what you’re not telling me. Sounds like you’ve pissed off a damn mob boss.”

“Something like that.” Peter offers his arm. To his surprise, Mr Stark accepts it. “I thought I was just chasing down a few stray alien weapons – Toomes’s weapons. I didn’t think – anyway, I didn’t know if I had enough information to bring it up. I only know a name.”

“What name?”

“Kingpin. I’ve tried talking to a few of the people I catch, but they don’t know anything. Or they’re scared. Sometimes both.”

“Okay,” Mr Stark sighs. They’re out of the house now. “All right. We’re gonna – clearly we need to work on our communication here. We can do that. _Shit_ , kid, I need you to tell me what’s going on, before you end up crashing another plane. Or we get kidnapped again. Not sure which is worse.”

Peter laughs and opens his mouth to answer, but tilts his head when he hears the sound of repulsors in the distance.

“What?”

War Machine lands about fifty yards away, the faceplate flipping up as he stands from his crouch.

Mr Stark relaxes instantly. “Took your damn time, honeybear!”

“You have a super-advanced AI and a panic button on your watch, and for what, Tones?” Rhodey strides closer. “Fuck’s sake, look at your face.”

“Loving the concern. Besides, I had backup.” Mr Stark nods down at Peter.

Rhodey frowns. “You all right, kid? You hurt?”

“I’m fine,” Peter insists. “Mr Stark got beat up a lot, though.”

“Yeah, Happy’s on the way. Probably driving like a maniac.”

“Normal for him, then.”

“I’m telling him you said that,” Peter says.

“No more burgers for you.” Mr Stark puts his arm around Peter’s shoulders.

“Child abuse.” Peter holds still for a moment, unsure how to respond; the last time this happened was when Mr Stark had offered him a place on the team. After a pause, he leans into Mr Stark’s side, smiling when the man gives him a comforting squeeze.

Rhodey watches them, barely hiding his confusion. Peter’s only met him once, not counting the airport in Germany, and he doesn’t know if he knows about Spider-Man or not. “All right,” he says eventually. “Happy’s almost here. Let’s get you two home. Tones, you need to take a trip down to medical as soon as, you got that?”

“Fine, fine, whatever. We need to make a stop on the way.”

Rhodey sighs, the image of a man who’s spent years dealing with his friend’s bullshit and is about to field some more. “Where?”

“McDonald’s.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ continued in chapter 12](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22511020/chapters/54739969)


	9. fever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Awareness comes back to Tony in pieces. Pain. Voices. Cold.
> 
> “He’s burning up – like, burning up, Peter.”
> 
> “I know, I know, I’m trying–“
> 
> He knows those voices.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guess who's back with more bamf protective peter and the previously promised harley. i'm posting this really quickly because i have to get a train in the morning so please excuse any mistakes
> 
> this is kind of set in the universe i set up in chapters [6](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19019488/chapters/49341644) and [7](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19019488/chapters/51331063#workskin) of my irondad bingo: basically, both peter and harley got snapped and now live with tony, and harley has a suit.

Tony comes to a halt as they walk off the Quinjet, gesturing for the other two to do the same. “Okay, you ready?”

They both nod.

“Harley, go with Peter. Stay with him, you hear me? He’s on point.”

He can just _tell_ Harley’s rolling his eyes, even beneath the mask. Little shit.

“This is not a negotiation. He’s more experienced. This is how it’s gonna be.”

“But I’m four days older.”

“I will kill you,” Peter mutters, not taking his eyes off the building.

“That’s the kind of teamwork I like to see!” Tony says brightly.

Peter snorts. “This is why they say never work with family.”

_Family_. Tony allows himself to grin for a moment. His family. His kids, standing in front of him in suits, ready to do the right thing.

“All right, old man. We’re going in the front, yeah?”

“ _Harley_.”

“I’m kidding! I know we’re going around the back.”

“Tony, take him,” Peter whines. “I’m begging you.”

“Nuh-uh. You know your positions. Let’s get to it.” Tony sighs. “God, I sound like Rogers.”

“Telling him you said that.”

“Good.” Tony huffs out a laugh. “Hey, at least you’re not the team baby anymore, Pete.”

“But I’m four days older.”

“Kill me now,” Peter mutters.

The warehouse is abandoned, which is why Tony picked it for Harley’s first proper mission. He’s still going to be cautious, though. Teach good habits from the outset, as Rhodey had said. And he’s paranoid. He’s so paranoid. Of course he is; these are his kids.

“Be careful,” he says, and Peter nods once before hopping on Harley’s back.

“I don’t know if this is more humiliating for me or you,” Harley says. If Peter retorts, it’s lost as he fires up his repulsors and takes off.

“Idiots,” Tony mutters. He loves them.

* * *

The warehouse is empty; FRIDAY had confirmed it, and Karen confirms it again, but Peter can’t shake the feeling that something is just…off.

Harley pushes the door open with a screech of metal and they step inside. If anything important had been here, it’s long gone. Even so…

“Keep scanning, Karen,” Peter says. “Anything weird, tell FRIDAY straight away. And me, obviously.”

_“Of course.”_

“What?” Harley says quietly.

Peter moves towards one of the storage compartments. “Bad feeling.”

Harley nods and walks further into the warehouse. “This place is _huge_ , man. So much storage space. What were the bad guys doing in here?”

“Building something,” Peter says. “Something big.”

It’s quiet for a moment. Peter’s enhanced hearing can pick up the whirr of Tony’s suit a few rooms away, sometimes obscured by Harley’s, but other than that, nothing. Nothing until Harley yanks open one of the storage rooms and freezes. Panic flashes up Peter’s spine, white-hot like lightning. Karen starts to blare an alert in the same second.

_“Explosives detected. Evacuate the area.”_

“Why couldn’t you find this earlier?” Peter yelps.

_“Unclear.”_

“Harley, come on!”

“There’s ten seconds!” Harley yells.

There’s a timer. A real-life bomb. It was a trap. They’re going to die.

Harley throws himself towards Peter, knocking them both to the ground. The entire world rumbles, quivers, leaves his ears ringing, and the warehouse crashes down around them.

* * *

Pain. It’s all he can think about; it’s all he knows.

No, not quite. There’s something more important than the agony radiating out from his thigh. Someone had been with him.

The kids!

“Peter?” Tony croaks, voice rasping in his throat. “Harley!” He tries to move, roll over, sit up, anything, but collapses with a choked scream.

What happened to him? How did he get injured through the armour? And Peter – Peter wasn’t wearing any nanotech, just his usual suit. He needs to get to them. He needs to make sure they’re okay.

He can’t move. Is there something pressing down on him? Or is his body just too heavy?

People are dancing around the edges of his blurry vision, but none of them are his kids, and he needs them, he needs to keep them safe. They’re his _children_ , his responsibility.

“I need…” Something shifts in his leg, but he’s far beyond screaming now. “Kids…”

Black.

* * *

Peter kicks the locked door a final time before turning to Harley with an apologetic grimace. “So, on a scale of one to ten, how’s your first mission going?”

“Full disclosure?” Harley plops down on the hard cot, and instantly regrets it. “Pretty shit.” He hugs his knees to his chest and tries not to think about the last time he’d been locked in a cell. “Are you ever _not_ getting kidnapped?” _Scratch that, then_.

“In my defence,” Peter says mildly, “the last time was your fault.” The men had stripped his suit off and all but thrown a matching set of a shirt and sweatpants at him. Harley’s really trying to avoid thinking how it looks like a prison uniform. Pyjamas. Yeah, he’ll go with pyjamas.

“I told you to leave.”

“And I obviously wasn’t going to.” Peter joins him on the cot with a heavy sigh. “I hope Tony’s okay.”

Harley whips his head around. “Why? What happened?”

“I heard him yell, after the place collapsed. I don’t know if he was hurt, or looking for us, or…”

“But alive, at least.”

“Yeah,” Peter says. “Alive.”

* * *

Tony’s so cold. So fucking cold.

He shivers again, tries to curl into a tighter ball, but a shock of pain shoots up his leg. A choked cry bubbles in his throat.

“Shit, he looks bad.”

“No shit.”

“We need him.”

“I _know_ that. Anyone here a doctor?” A pause. “That’s what I thought.”

He doesn’t recognise the voices. He needs – he needs to see his kids. They were with him, weren’t they? Where did they go?

“Peter?” he gasps out. “Peter! Harley!”

They don’t come. Why didn’t they? What’s stopping them? He’s afraid to know the answer.

“What’s he saying?”

“Fuck if I know. Maybe he means the kids?”

“You think we should get them?”

Get them! Yes! He needs to see them, needs to know they’re safe. “Harley,” he breathes again. “Pete.”

“Not yet. The plan was to keep them separate. Wait and see if he gets better.”

What plan? Why is he here? Why aren’t the kids? What if it’s not just them – what if they have Pepper and Morgan, or Rhodey, or Happy?

“Okay, he’s freaking out again. Give him another dose.”

Darkness rushes up to meet him in a cool wave, and Tony can’t even begin to fight it.

* * *

They’re left alone for three days. Nine meals. It’s boring, but Peter infinitely prefers it to the last time he’d been captured. He doesn’t need to ask to know that Harley does, too.

Most of the time, they sit huddled on the bed together. Sometimes Peter climbs the walls, dangling upside down just for a change of scenery. Harley snorts every time, but they’re both on edge, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

These people must know who they have, must have seen Peter’s suit when they dug him out, hyperventilating, from underneath Harley and half the warehouse. (He could have really done without the reminder of how shitty that homecoming had been, but too late now.) What do they want with them? Peter’s not sure he wants to find out.

But they’re together. They’re being fed and otherwise left alone. It could be so much worse.

When the cell door does finally swing open, Peter shoots off the cot, bending his knees as he drops into a fighting stance. Harley joins him, jaw set defiantly.

“Peter,” the guard at the door says, apropos of nothing.

Peter jolts in shock. They know. How do they know?

“Ah, so if that’s you…” The guard turns his gaze with a cruel smirk. “You’re Harley.”

Peter steps between him and the guard, a silent warning. _Don’t mouth off. Don’t make them angry._

“Yeah, he yells your names, you know. Cries when you don’t answer.”

“What are you doing to him?” Peter says, forcing his voice not to tremble. Tony crying – he’s Iron Man, he’s supposed to be untouchable, so what have these people _done_?

“Well, he’s not looking too hot at the minute, which kinda sucks for you two, because if we lose him, then we don’t need you.”

“But you need him,” Harley says. “Why?”

“Duh, he’s Tony Stark. Of course we need him. We need a smart mechanic.”

“Let me see him,” Peter says suddenly. “I’m – I’m medically trained.” It’s not exactly a lie; Sam had given him some lessons on field medicine, at Tony’s insistence.

The guard appraises him like he’s a puppy that just returned a ball for the first time. “Yeah. Yeah, whatever. Maybe he’ll stop freaking out if you’re there. Come on.”

“And Harley. And I need medical stuff – what’s actually wrong with him?”

The guard doesn’t answer that, just snorts. “You know what? Who gives a shit at this point? Let’s go, boys, we’re taking a walk.”

* * *

Awareness comes back to Tony in pieces. Pain. Voices. Cold.

“He’s burning up – like, _burning_ up, Peter.”

“I know, I know, I’m trying–“

He _knows_ those voices.

“Here, try and clean it out – be gentle.”

Something scrapes at Tony’s leg, and he cries out, choked and broken.

“Oh, shit – I’m sorry, Tony.”

“No, keep going. I’m just gonna – there.”

“What was that?”

“Antibiotics.”

“He didn’t even flinch.”

“I know, just – keep going.”

Tony peels open one eye – it’s a slow, painful process – and there’s Harley, hovering over him. His kid.

“Hey!” Harley breathes, relief breaking over his face. “Hey, Tony, you’re okay.”

“You’re here,” Tony whispers, and lifts a heavy hand, clumsily patting Harley’s face. He feels real. “Where – where did you go? You were gone.”

“Yeah, we were – we were in our own shitty cell, but we’re okay – you, on the other hand…”

Harley’s here. Tony can almost ignore the next shudder that wracks his body, but… “Peter? Where…where–?”

“Right here.” Peter’s face pops into view. “Just, um…making use of those first aid lessons. And slightly panicking. But we’re good, we’re all good.”

Yeah. His kids are here. Everything is fine.

“Yeah, you get some rest. We, uh, we got this. Mostly Peter.”

Something cool is draped across his forehead, and he wonders how it feels like a good thing when he’s so cold already. “My boys,” he sighs.

“Yep. That’s us. The boys. Iron kids. Pains in your ass.”

Tony smiles. Peter’s face pops into view again.

“Don’t freak out – this is just a sedative. You need to rest. We’ll still be here when you wake up.”

“Promise?”

Peter manages a weak smile, but if he says anything, it’s lost in a swirl of blackness, and Tony falls into it, unable to resist.

* * *

“You didn’t promise,” Harley says pointedly, once Tony’s breathing settles into something less choppy, less pained.

“Well, I don’t know if they’ll let us stay.” Peter’s sleeves are rolled up, his hands stained with Tony’s blood. He’d been so calm when he was directing Harley, so collected, but now he looks about ready to pass out.

“That was…seriously impressive, dude.”

“Shoutout to Sam Wilson.” Peter flashes an exhausted grin.

Harley balls up one the blankets and tosses it at him. “Take a nap.”

“No, I need to–“

“You drugged him, he’s not waking up any time soon.”

Peter hesitates.

“I’ll get you if anything happens, okay? You look like you’re gonna keel over.”

“Okay,” Peter says weakly, and Harley knows he must be wiped out if he’s not even arguing. “Yeah, just…keep an eye on him.”

“Yep.” Harley hopes that means on Tony in general, and not his leg, because it’s the grossest thing he’s ever seen. Whatever caused that wound – whatever Tony got fucking _impaled_ with – must have been huge, not to mention solid enough to go straight through his armour. He’s suddenly glad for his split-second decision to cover Peter’s body with his own. “Go. Sleep. I got this for a few hours.”

Peter nods, settling down on the floor. “Hey, we should make out that it’s worse than it is. They might let us stay in.”

“Yeah. Might think we’re less of a threat, too. All of us.”

Something sparks in Peter’s eyes, the mischief and genius that Tony often warns him to put to better use. “Time to put those freshman drama classes to good use.”

“I completely agree, but not right now.”

“Yeah, yeah. Sleep. I got it.” Peter wraps the blanket around himself, but doesn’t take his eyes off Tony’s face for a long time.

“Peter,” Harley says. “Go to sleep.”

“You’re not the boss of me.”

“No, but I’m four days older.”

Peter rolls his eyes, but his face is set. “I can’t lose him, Harley. I’ve lost everyone else, and I…I need to have someone. I need Tony.”

“You have loads of people,” Harley says. “You have Pepper, Rhodey, Happy, Ned, MJ, me – but none of that’s important, because Tony’s gonna be fine.”

“I hope so.”

“No, he will. Now take your damn nap.”

“Bossy,” Peter mutters, but he closes his eyes.

* * *

The next time Tony wakes up, he’s more aware than he’s been in what seems like days. The agony in his leg has been reduced to a dull throb, and he’s barely shivering. The icing on the cake is Harley, perched on the end of his uncomfortable cot.

“Hey,” he croaks. He thought they’d come, but he hadn’t been sure if it was a dream or not.

“Hi, old man,” Harley whispers. “You look better. And actually with it.”

“The hell happened?”

“Not exactly sure on your end. There was a bomb in that warehouse, maybe more than one. They dragged me and Peter out of the rubble before our ears stopped ringing, and pretty much left us alone for a few days. You, on the other hand, have a gaping wound in your left thigh that got infected and you had a really high fever. It was gross. Peter did a pretty good job at playing doctor, though.”

“Where is Peter?”

Harley gestures downwards, and Tony cranes his head to see Peter wrapped in one of the thin blankets and curled in a ball on the hard floor. “We’ve been swapping out on Tony shifts.”

“No, come on – you two shouldn’t–“

“Nah, you absolutely need the bed. Not a negotiation. Infected leg, fever – sound familiar?”

Tony sighs. “I remember Doctor Parker. That was…something.”

“Oh, yeah. Gave you injections and all sorts, and only panicked a little tiny bit.” Harley puts his hand on Tony’s forehead. “You’re still a bit warm, but you’re getting there.”

“All right, all right, enough of Nurse Harley.” Tony accepts the bottle of water the kid holds out and takes a long drink. “So: these people. Any clue what they want with us?”

“Something was definitely said about a mechanic.”

“And you two?”

Harley shrugs. “Motivation, I guess. They don’t seem to give a shit that I have a suit, or that they have Spider-Man. They were pretty keen on you not dying, too.”

“Right.” Harley’s face drops a little, and Tony reaches out to clasp his wrist. “We’re gonna get out of here, Spud. Don’t worry. Daring escapes are kinda my thing.”

“I know,” Harley says. “I just hate that you got hurt.”

“Hey, I’ve had worse, buddy. At least we’re all together now, and you two are okay.”

“Yeah.” Harley stares at the wall for a moment. “Look, we’ve kinda been pretending it’s worse than it is, so if you could look dead-slash-dying whenever anyone comes to check on us, that would be great.”

“So they don’t take you away again?”

“We get to stay, they underestimate you, and we can plan.”

“Smart.”

“Oh, you’d be amazed what’s knocking around up here. How’s your leg feeling?”

“A bit hot. Not too bad, though.”

“Good. Last thing we need is you dying of sepsis. I didn’t even think injuries got infected like that anymore – that’s some medieval shit.”

“Well, that’s what happens in super hygienic places like this.” Tony squints at the grimy walls. “Is this the same building we were scoping out?”

“No, that was blown to bits, but Peter doesn’t think it’s far away.”

“Okay, so the team have somewhere to start looking. Is there a routine?”

“Three meals a day, pretty regular.”

“Our suits?”

“Not a clue, sorry.”

“We’ll need one to send a distress signal. Peter’s is the best option – small, lightweight, easy to carry.”

Harley nods. “Okay, but we can’t do anything right now. Let’s all rest, and we’ll talk more in the morning.”

“Yes, sir,” Tony says with a smirk.

“Nah, I ain’t in charge here. JV team, remember? I’m on probation.”

“Let’s pretend it’s _Star Trek_. Emergency command.”

“Oh, you’re making pop culture references now? Yeah, you’re fine.”

Tony swats at him. “Brat.”

* * *

“I really appreciate this,” Tony says, as Harley finds the least uncomfortable spot on the floor and Peter settles down for a shift on the cot, “but you two don’t have to do this. Let me take the floor, at least for a few hours, and you can share the bed.”

“Nope!” Harley says.

“You could’ve died,” Peter whispers. “Just let us look after you for once.”

“I’m good, Webs. I promise.”

Peter hums, not convinced, and suddenly tenses at the sound of footsteps, cocking his head to the side. “They’re coming. Tony–“

Tony understands, closing his eyes instantly. The door flies open, bangs against the wall, and it takes everything in Peter not to flinch away.

_Danger. Something bad._

“Get him up,” the first man snaps, gesturing to Tony.

“He’s still–“

“Yeah, you expect me to believe that?”

One of the guards storms forward, yanking Peter off the bed by his shirt and slamming him into the wall. Another does the same to Harley, and laughs when he yelps.

“Search them. Find it.”

“Find what?” Peter asks. The guard smacks him across the face, hard.

“Hey!” Tony barks, apparently giving up the charade completely.

“Him, too. Find whatever they have, whatever they made. Destroy it, and then get them out of here. We need to move out before the Avengers find us.”

The team’s coming. Peter can barely hold in his sigh of relief, even as his cheek smarts.

“We don’t have anything,” Harley says. The guard tugs his shoes off anyway, shaking them as if he expects something to fall out.

The sudden explosion makes them all jump. The guard’s grip on Peter slips for a moment, but it’s enough; he scrambles up the wall, kicking out at the leader as he does so. Another explosion rocks the building, and the rest of the guards turn and run.

Harley leaps over to Tony’s cot and helps him to his feet, while Peter drops to the ground and peeks his head out of the door.

“Corridor’s clear,” he calls, pulling Tony’s other arm around his shoulder.

“I see them!” It’s unmistakably Sam’s voice. “Ground floor, north side.”

Rhodey lands in front of them, faceplate already folded back and his expression exasperated. “We really gotta stop meeting like this. All of you.”

“Yeah, my bad this time,” Tony grunts. “Let’s go, come on.”

“Why’re you limping?”

“‘Cause my leg hurts.”

“ _Why_ does your leg hurt?”

“Boys!” Pepper lands beside Rhodey. “Let’s wrap this up, please. Morgan’s with Happy, and you know he can never say no when she asks for juice pops.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Harley says.

“Jet, now.”

Tony smirks as they start walking again. “Have I ever told you that you’re amazing? Because you’re amazing, Pep.”

“I love you too, honey. Not the time.”

“What’s happening to him?” Harley mutters.

“Maybe a delayed reaction to the painkillers?” Peter says. “Honestly, no idea.”

“I love my family!” Tony announces to the world. Sam shoots him a strange look.

Rhodey groans. “I hate this family.”


	10. sick & movie night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If Tony wasn’t freaking out internally, he’d laugh at how pitiful Peter looks. His face is pale, his eyes droopy, he’s fighting off yawn after yawn and he’s wrapped completely in a fluffy galaxy-patterned blanket; it’s even pulled over his head like a hood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i really should have learned this lesson, but every year i die from freshers flu and winter flu, and every year i let myself get run down and tired until it happens all over again. fun times!!

_“Mr…Stark?”_

“Yes, speaking.”

The woman on the phone sounds hesitant. _“This is Midtown Tech. I…have you down as an emergency contact for Peter Parker. Is that right?”_

“It is.” Once the dust had settled after homecoming night and she’d stopped looking at him like he was the devil incarnate, May had insisted. Little steps: listing him as a contact point; adding him as a potential guardian in her will; persuading him he was good enough to sign for joint guardianship. She knows, even if it took Tony a while to see it, that Peter needs him.

_“He needs to be collected, if you’re able to. We tried his aunt but she must be at work.”_

“I’ll be right down.” Tony stands, ignoring the collective sigh in the meeting room and Pepper’s apologetic grimace. “What’s the matter?”

_“I’m not sure exactly, but the nurse said–“_

“He’s sick?” Tony freezes, halfway out of the room. “Really?”

_“I know it doesn’t happen as often with teenagers, but sometimes they catch things.”_

_But Peter doesn’t_. “Yeah, no problem. I’ll be with you soon.”

_“Thank you, Mr Stark.”_

He leaves Pepper to cover his ass, again, and runs.

* * *

Tony Stark knows how to make an entrance. He can walk into any room and instantly command it, be it through his recognisable face, his charismatic authority or his clear sense of purpose. Striding down a high school corridor, it’s clearly a combination of all three. The students part before him like the Red Sea, their stares a mixture of awed, apathetic and judging. God, high schools haven’t changed.

He finally finds the reception and is greeted by a tired-looking man instead of the woman he’d spoken to on the phone.

“I’m here for my kid. He’s with the nurse.”

“Sure.” The guy, rather than getting up, rolls his chair to the door leading to the next room over. “Someone’s dad’s here?”

“Oh, that’s me,” announces a voice that is very much not Peter’s. Tony instantly dislikes it. “Penis doesn’t have any parents.”

A short kid strolls out of the adjoining office, all polo shirt and chinos, and takes in Tony with a smirk. “Whoa, Tony Stark? Did you get my internship application? It was good, wasn’t it? I knew I was smart enough. You know there’s a kid here who says he interns with you, but everyone knows he’s lying. Now I can finally prove it, hah! When do I start–?”

As he’s talking, Tony leans around him and frowns at the receptionist. “Um, excuse me, I asked for my kid? This… _being_ in front of me is not my kid.”

“Oh, sorry, should’ve asked–“

“You’re here for Peter, right?” a new voice asks, and Tony recognises her as the one who’d called him.

“Yes! Yes, Peter Parker.”

The kid finally shuts up, mouth hanging halfway open. A bell rings.

“You’ll catch flies,” Tony tells him, scooting around him and stepping closer to the nurse’s office.

“Peter? You can go home now,” the woman says kindly. “Sleep on a real bed, all right?”

A muffled grunt answers her, and then Peter shuffles out the door.

If Tony wasn’t freaking out internally, he’d laugh at how pitiful Peter looks. His face is pale, his eyes droopy, he’s fighting off yawn after yawn and he’s wrapped completely in a fluffy galaxy-patterned blanket; it’s even pulled over his head like a hood.

Tony is, in fact, freaking out internally, but he does what he does best and covers it by laughing anyway. “Christ, kid, you look terrible. What’s up? I thought you didn’t get sick.” He feels their audience staring and adds, “…much.”

“Mr Stark,” Peter mumbles. “Sorry, told ‘em not to call you.”

“As it turns out, a sick kid is an entirely valid excuse for leaving a board meeting and one that I will definitely be using in future.” Tony steps up to him and lays a hand across his forehead. Too hot. “Running a temperature, huh? Not like you.”

Peter squints. “Can we jus’…go? Wanna sleep.”

“Oh, now you want to sleep.” Tony wraps an arm around him anyway, smiling as Peter melts into the touch. “You need to give that blanket back?”

“Nah. ‘S’MJ’s. She keeps it for Lit classes where she’s already read the book and wants to nap instead.”

“Smart girl. Do I need to sign anything?”

“It’s all in the book, Mr Stark,” the receptionist says. “You feel better, Peter.”

“Wait,” the kid says, his arrogant face twisting into something ugly, “you actually know Parker?”

“Of course I do. He’s my intern.” Tony claps the kid on the shoulder as he passes. “And if I ever hear you call him what I think you called him earlier, I’ll make sure not even Oscorp will hire you. Okay?”

“Tony,” Peter whines, “stop bein’ embarrassin’.”

“Ah, well, that’s my prerogative as your boss, Pete.” Tony frowns as Peter stumbles over his own feet beside him. Never ill, never clumsy; something is definitely wrong. “This isn’t to do with your self-inflicted late nights, is it?” The corridor is mercifully empty, all the students having trickled away to class.

“Don’ think so.” Peter squints when they step outside. “Bright.”

_Sure it isn’t_. “Car’s right here.” Tony helps him into the passenger seat. “And you don’t feel like you’re gonna puke, right?”

Peter winces but shakes his head.

“Okay, so we can deal with this.” Tony drives, nodding to himself. “This is fine.”

“Mmm…you’re freaking out, though.”

“Of course I’m freaking out, Underoos! You don’t get sick,” Tony snaps.

Peter whimpers at the noise, and Tony knows this is serious. Peter never admits to being in pain, no matter how much he might promise otherwise.

So Tony turns the radio down and hisses for FRIDAY to play Peter’s sleep playlist – the kid has a playlist for everything – and soon Peter’s asleep next to him, wrapped in an odd blanket-and-seatbelt burrito.

“Fri, scan him. Anything out of the ordinary?”

_“He has a temperature of one-hundred-point-two.”_

“Could be worse.”

_“Yes, but Itsy-Bitsy generally runs at a lower Internal temperature than average people.”_

“Rude.”

_“You know what I mean.”_

“I know. Any cause for concern yet?”

_“I would suggest giving him some of the ‘super-duper Spider-baby drugs’ – your words – that you developed, and letting him sleep it off. If his temperature rises significantly, I’ll let you know.”_

“Thanks, girl. Any idea what might have caused this?”

_“Tiredness often affects immune systems, Boss, even enhanced ones, it would seem.”_

“Right,” Tony says, glancing sideways at the kid. “So. That’s going to need a conversation.”

* * *

“Kid?”

Peter grumbles and shifts away from the voice.

“Yeah, you’re real cute. Don’t make me carry you. I’m not letting you sleep in the car; your aunt would have my head.”

“T’red.”

“Oh, believe me, I know, and we’re gonna talk about it. Come on, staying here isn’t an option. Bed or couch?”

“Misser S’ark?”

“Okay, that’s slightly concerning?” Something touches Peter’s forehead. “You remember me in your school, right? Pretty sure that should’ve scarred you.”

Right. He’d been ill at school. Tony had come to pick him up. “Yeah, no, I r‘member.”

“Wonderful to hear, Underoos. Let’s get you upstairs now, come on.”

“Ugh, fine.”

“Yep, that’s the spirit. Up we go.”

“Bl’nket?”

“I got it, don’t worry. I’m not gonna mess up Scary Girl’s things.”

Peter relents, letting Mr Stark pull him to his feet.

“You didn’t answer my question, Webs.”

“Hm?”

“Couch or bed?”

“Mm…couch.”

“Couch it is.”

Peter checks out until the elevator doors open and Mr Stark helps him down the corridor.

“Dim the lights in the lounge, Fri,” Mr Stark says. “And start playing _Star Wars_. Doesn’t matter which one.”

“You know me so well,” Peter mumbles, finding himself suddenly on the couch with _The Empire Strikes Back_ playing on the screen in front of him.

“Oh, absolutely.” Mr Stark drapes something over him – MJ’s fluffy space blanket. “Hang tight, Spider-ling. Medicine coming right up. You hungry?”

“Maybe.”

“So that’ll be a yes. You should probably take these drugs with food anyway.”

“Cool.” Peter stifles a cough.

“Yeah, you sound terrible.”

Peter shoots Mr Stark a wide grin as he leaves the room.

* * *

It takes Tony all of fifteen minutes to retrieve Peter’s super-strength fever medicine – and some painkillers, just in case – and heat up some canned soup, but the kid’s already dozed off by the time he gets back, which is all he needs to know.

“Kid.” He shakes Peter’s shoulder. “Come on, get some food in you.”

Peter emerges from his blanket nest, glaring balefully, although the impact is slightly lessened by the huge yawn that lasts a full five seconds.

“Oh, my God,” Tony mutters. “Soup. Drugs. Then you can sleep.”

He gets a grumble, but Peter extricates himself and accepts the bowl. “Thanks.”

“Don’t need to look at me like I killed a puppy, Web-doodle.”

“Killed m’nap.”

“Why’re you so tired, kid?”

Peter shrugs, eats a spoonful of soup to avoid his gaze.

“You need sleep.”

“I sleep!”

“Enough for a sixteen-year-old? ‘Cause it’s bad enough high school starts so early, and you got homework and extracurriculars, but you’re moonlighting as everyone’s favourite small-time hero. I don’t want you trying to do too much, kiddo.”

“I’m _fine_ ,” Peter says, because he’s a teenager and genetically programmed to be obstinate.

“Sure. Your crapped-out, run-down immune system is saying otherwise.”

“This is bullying.”

“You got it. Speaking of, who’s the rich kid who was being an ass to you earlier? Cocky little shit.”

“Flash?” Peter coughs a couple of times and goes back to his soup. “Yeah, he’s just…Flash, I guess. It’s not a big deal.”

“If you say so.” Tony doesn’t believe him, not in the slightest, but he’s willing to skip an argument today.

“I do.”

“All right, fine. How you doing with that soup?”

“Nearly finished.”

“Okay, Spidey Tylenol coming up. You need painkillers? Got a headache?”

“No, I’m good.”

Tony decides believing him is the path of least resistance this time. “Uh-huh. And have orange juice, as well.”

“Vitamin C,” Peter mutters.

“Well, _someone_ paid attention in second grade biology. You must’ve been out on the day they went through the importance of sleep.”

Peter thumps him. “Point made. I probably was, you know. I got sick a lot as a kid.” He pauses. “Forgot how much it sucks.”

Tony snorts, leans back on the couch, pulls Peter against his side. “So you’re gonna try to avoid this in future, right?”

“I make no promises. Isn’t college like a breeding ground for germs?”

“True, but then you’ll be an adult and probably too far away for me to come and take you out of class.”

Peter looks up with a shit-eating grin. “I thought you liked using the excuse to get out of meetings.”

“…you know too much.”

It’s Peter’s turn to snort. “You don’t need to go back today, do you?”

“No.”

“Good. I’m comfortable.”

“You’re a little shit–“

"I thought you wanted me to get some rest?"

"I'm not a pillow, Parker.'

“ _Shh_ , Luke’s nearly at Dagobah.”

“Little shit, you are.”


	11. hearing loss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony spins around to see that Ross had followed him out of the conference room. Shit. “Mr Secretary, my intern, Peter Parker. Kid, this is Secretary Ross.”
> 
> Peter nods. He understands. “Nice to meet you, sir.”
> 
> “And you.” Ross holds out his hand for Peter to shake; only Tony knows the kid well enough to see how tense he is. “You must be something special, Peter. An internship at Stark Industries?”

Tony’s at the end of his rope. If he has to listen to any more of this shit, he’s going to commit a brutal murder, and enjoy himself while he’s at it. “No. No, that’s all coming out,” he says firmly. “All of it. That – without mincing words – is fucking disgusting. It’s inhumane, Secretary.”

“Well,” Ross says, eerily composed, “it’s a good thing they’re not _human_.” He leans back in his chair and puts his hands in his pockets.

“The UN won’t agree to this,” Tony says bluntly. “You’re deluded if you think they will. This is – unlawful. It’s containment and torture and discrimination, and to what end?”

“Public safety. I think you’ll be surprised how many people will agree with me on that.”

Tony rubs his head. They’ve been doing for hours now, going in circles again and again. It’s like hitting his head against a fucking brick wall.

“Well, we’ll leave that for now,” Ross says. “I want to come back to this amendment you’ve been adding in, with honestly impressive tenacity–“

_“Boss, Peter Parker is in the elevator.”_

Tony freezes. He made sure – he _told_ Happy to keep the kid away. Today of all days. Ross turns to him, something a little more terrifying than just curiosity in his gaze.

“Just my intern,” Tony says. He can’t kick up a fuss, not without making Ross suspicious. “Must’ve got his days mixed up. I’ll just be a minute.”

He leaves the conference room just as the elevator doors open and Peter walks out, eyes darting from side to side.

“Hey, kid,” Tony calls, trying to project ‘everything is normal’. “Sorry, I wasn’t expecting you today. What’s up?”

“I forgot my French book, Mr Stark. I really need it, I’m sorry.”

Peter doesn’t take French. Tony narrows his eyes. “Okay, you know where you left it? I’m in the middle of a meeting right now.”

“Yeah, I’ll look in the kitchen. Oh – um. Hello, Mr – sir.”

Tony spins around to see that Ross had followed him out of the conference room. _Shit_. “Mr Secretary, my intern, Peter Parker. Kid, this is Secretary Ross.”

Peter nods. He understands. “Nice to meet you, sir.”

“And you.” Ross holds out his hand for Peter to shake; only Tony knows the kid well enough to see how tense he is. “You must be something special, Peter. An internship at Stark Industries?”

“Oh.” Peter forces out a laugh. “No, I just applied for a grant. I got really lucky.”

“Indeed,” Ross says, and stands back a little, hands in his pockets. “How old are you, Peter.”

“Fifteen, sir.”

“Very young. You must be extraordinary.”

Tony clears his throat. “Kid, textbook. Do you need a ride home?”

“No, thanks, Mr Stark. I’ll leave you to it. Sorry for interrupting.” He manoeuvres around Ross and heads down the corridor. “It was nice to meet you, sir. Um…” He stops, looking around.

“You okay?”

“Can you guys hear–?” Peter breaks off, his legs giving way beneath him.

“Shit!” Tony dives forward, just in time to stop him smacking his head on the floor. “Fuck! Fri – call a medic up here, quickly.” He waits for a response as he turns Peter over, gently as he can. “FRIDAY?”

“Amazing,” he hears Ross breathe behind him.

“Yeah, what-the-fuck-ever. Go make yourself useful, why don’t you? Surely one of your security has at least first aid training…” Tony trails off when he looks down at Peters face. The kid’s eyes are wide open, roving from side to side and full of panic. He’s awake, just… “Paralysed,” Tony mutters. He knows that feeling. He knows what this is. “Okay, buddy, it’s okay. It’s gonna wear off. I got you. You’re gonna be fine.”

Peter’s frightened gaze falls on something over Tony’s shoulder, so he turns, almost against his will, and finds a gun pointed at his forehead.

“Step away from it, Stark,” Ross says lazily.

_It_. Like he’s not human. Tony’s hand finds Peter’s limp one and holds tight. “What did you do?”

In answer, Ross fishes something out of his trouser pocket and holds it up, a familiar shape. Tony’s free hand flies to his chest, even though there’s nothing there anymore, nothing for _him_ to steal.

“You remember this?” Ross says. “Stane was right, it did have potential. It’s had a couple of modifications – it only affects enhanceds now. Like the kid.”

“What, you just carry that around with you?” Tony barks, terror spilling over and coming out as rage. He hadn’t wanted Ross to even know Peter _existed_ , and now he knows the kid has powers and has a way to hurt him.

“Please,” Ross scoffs. “You were so adamant about that clause excluding minors and vigilantes – you made it painfully obvious that you were trying to protect someone. And a high school intern? It wasn’t rocket science to put the pieces together.”

Peter’s fingers twitch in his. Tony squeezes back.

“I’m authorised to take him in, Stark.”

“By who?”

“That’s above your pay grade. If you resist, it’s no skin off my back to arrest you as well.”

“Consider me resisting,” Tony says instantly. Like shit is he letting Peter out of his sight. Not with Ross.

Ross shrugs, gesturing to one of his guards. “Restrain them. Oh, and just in case…”

Peter cries out and goes limp again.

Ross smirks. “Just checking.”

“You son of a bitch,” Tony snarls.

“Ah-ah.” Ross waves the hand that’s holding the sonic taser, his thumb still holding down the button.

Tony whips his head back around; Peter’s eyes are wide, and tears are streaming from the corners of his eyes. “Stop! Stop it, now.”

“Fine.”

Peter lets out a tiny gasp. Tony pushes his hair off his forehead and brushes the tears away.

“I imagine I can count on your cooperation, Stark.”

* * *

Ross has a van waiting in the basement car park, and Tony starts to realise – too late – how stupid he’d been, how careless. He should never have let Ross anywhere his path might cross with the kid’s. He should have been firmer about Peter staying away. He should have made sure he burned the plans for those sonic tasers; how is Obie still managing to hurt him, even years later?

They’re thrown in the back of the van and left alone. Tony instantly scrambles to grab Peter, pulling him up so the kid is sitting against his chest, and braces himself against the wall of the van. The engine starts.

How did Ross get that thing past FRIDAY? Why didn’t she answer when Tony needed her? He rests his chin on the top of Peter’s head and sighs, holding him steady when the van hits a bump.

“It’s okay, kid,” he murmurs, remembering the helplessness, the terror, “it’s okay, it’s gonna wear off soon. You’re gonna be fine.”

When Peter comes back, he comes back fighting, thrashing his arms wildly. It’s weak and clumsy, but he still almost clocks Tony around the temple before collapsing back against his chest, sobbing.

“Hey, it’s okay, it’s okay,” Tony says quickly. He’s panicking now, too; he’s known the kid nearly a year, and he’s never seen him so freaked out.

“I can’t – I can’t–“ Peter gasps out. “I – Mr Stark, I can’t hear. I can’t hear anything!”

_Shit_. Tony’s been reassuring him, and Peter doesn’t even know. He’s going to strangle Ross with his bare hands. “Okay,” he says, turning Peter around to face him. “Look at me. It’s going to be okay.”

Peter watches him speak, frowning in concentration.

“It’s not permanent. It’s gonna be fine. Got that?” _I hope it isn’t permanent. God, I hope so._

The kid nods, scrubbing the heel of his hand across his cheeks, and God, he just accepted that without question, trusted Tony implicitly. What did he do to deserve this kid?

“Why did you come?” Tony whispers.

Peter sniffs. “Had a – had a bad feeling.”

“I wonder what that was about.” Tony tugs a strand of his hair, but not hard enough to hurt. Peter leans into his hand.

“Where are they taking us?”

Tony shrugs. “I don’t know, kid.” He has an idea, but Peter’s scared enough already.

Their prison jolts, like the driver had tapped the brakes suddenly. Peter looks around, expression frantic. There’s a crash. Someone yells. The van swerves, so sudden and so violent that they slide and crash into the wall. Peter yelps in pain, grabbing a handful of Tony’s suit jacket.

“It’s okay,” Tony gasps, even though he doesn’t know it is, even though Peter can’t hear him.

There’s another yell, a screech of metal, and the van door is thrown open. Tony squints, shielding his eyes with one hand and keeping a firm grip on Peter with the other, and catches sight of a flash of blonde hair.

“Stark,” Natasha greets him. “We got your text.” Her gaze falls on Peter. “Although that might explain why it was in third person.”

“I didn’t send a text,” Tony says. Peter’s eyes are flitting between him and Natasha, but he’s not focusing on the conversation. “Kid.” He taps Peter’s arm to get his attention. “Let’s get out of here, come on.”

Peter frowns, but follows Tony out of the van, still clinging to him. It’s not just Natasha, Tony realises. We got your text, she’d said. _We_. Steve Rogers is standing barely five feet away, and it takes everything in him not to flinch.

“Tony,” Rogers says, the picture of relief. Wilson is beside him, too, but no sign of Barnes. Not surprising: Tony speaks to T’Challa. “You used the phone.”

“Yeah, about that…” Tony says. “Mind giving me a little refresher of what I said?”

“‘I don’t know if you’ll get this, but I think Mr Stark’s in trouble.’”

“Mr Stark, huh?” Tony turns to Peter, who stares back blankly. Right. He has no idea what’s happening. “Yeah, I think we got the culprit for that.”

“The kid texted us?”

“Yup.” This time, Peter does react, only a little. “Hey, you hear that?”

“I think so? Maybe.” Peter screws up his face. “Coming back, a bit.”

“Oh, thank God,” Tony breathes, catching Natasha’s questioning gaze. “Uh, Ross got a little trigger-happy with a sonic weapon. He’ll be fine.” The kid’s enhanced healing should help it along as well, but they’re not hearing that. “Speaking of, anyone seen the bastard?”

“His car split off from the convoy as soon as Sam engaged,” Natasha says. “We were focused on getting you out. We didn’t know there was a minor involved, but if we had – even more reason.”

Tony hears the unspoken question and puts a protective arm around Peter’s shoulders, draws him closer. “My intern. Wrong place, wrong time. I wouldn’t have pissed Ross off if I’d known he was going to involve the kid.”

“Not your fault,” Peter mutters.

“Well, you definitely heard that.” Tony catches Peter’s hand as he goes to feel his ear. “Nope, ears are delicate things. Leave them be.”

Peter groans and leans his head on Tony’s shoulder, pressing one ear down against the fabric of his jacket. “They’re _ringing_.”

Yep, Tony remembers that bit. “It’ll pass. Shouldn’t be too long, bud.”

Sam and Natasha are watching them with guarded curiosity, while Steve is staring like Tony’s grown another limb.

“You guys better split,” Tony says, half-regretful, half-relieved. “Still on the run, all that jazz.”

Sam nods. “I, uh, Rhodes and I talk sometimes. He tells me you’re fighting the Accords. Appreciate it.”

“He’s being kind,” Tony says. “I’m only fighting the worst clauses, trying to get you exonerated. If the UN lets you back, it’s gonna be on their terms. Not a lot I can do about that.”

Sam nods, grins ruefully. “Sounds about right. See you, man.”

Natasha steps closer as the others move away, her gaze boring into him. “Hill sent me some intel yesterday, specs of weapons Ross has been developing. The only sonic weapon mentioned was one specifically designed to target enhanced senses.”

She glances at Peter, who presses his lips together. Tony doesn’t even try to protest; she’d see right through it.

Natasha sighs. “Take care of him,” she says seriously, and turns away.

“Any chance I could see those specs?” Tony says.

She scoffs. “Of course. Want any to use on Ross?”

“Tempting though that would be, I was thinking more along the lines of, ah, _persuading_ him to step down from the Accords committee. One way or another.”

Natasha smirks and strides away, catching up with Steve, who’s doing a piss-poor job of pretending not to listen. He raises one hand, gives a hesitant wave, which Peter returns.

“Kid, really?”

“I’ve been indoctrinated since birth to respect Captain America.”

“And after everything I’ve done for you? Don’t know if I can handle the betrayal, Parker.”

“Iron Man’s still my favourite. Love that guy.”

Tony rolls his eyes and flashes Steve a nonchalant peace sign. Rhodey swoops down and lands on the road with enough force to crack the blacktop.

“Shit!” Peter gasps, jumping half a foot off the ground and stumbling into Tony.

“You didn’t hear me?” Rhodey says.

“Kinda distracted here, honeybear,” Tony retorts. “Nice of you to join the party, though.”

“I was in DC, you _dick_. I couldn’t check my cell phone – I got an alert from FRIDAY that she’d been shut down and couldn’t find you anywhere, and then I saw the kid’s text–“

“Who did you text?” Tony says to Peter. “More to the point, who _didn’t_ you text?”

“Pepper–“

“Who’s in Japan.”

“Rhodey–“

“Who was at _the White House_.”

“Happy–“

“Yeah, I don’t know where the hell he is, actually.”

“And these guys. Just in case.”

“Well, you certainly covered all your bases,” Tony sighs.

“It worked, didn’t it?” Peter says, looking up at him with wide eyes,

_Goddammit_. “Yeah, and that’s the only reason I’m not kicking your little ass for going through my things.”

“Please, you _wish_ you could kick my ass.”

“I’m very willing to try.”

“‘Try’ is the operative word in that sentence.”

“All right, all right, let’s get you two back,” Rhodey says. “Just gonna talk to Wilson. Be five minutes.”

“Yep.” Tony pulls Peter against his side again. They’re okay. “How’re the ears, buddy?”

“Like, you know when they’re itchy but it’s inside the back of your throat?”

“The worst,” Tony agrees. “Probably means they’re healing, though.”

Peter groans, leans into his shoulder. Tony watches Rhodey and Sam shake hands and exchange a few words.

Then Sam glances at them, moves closer to Rhodey and says, “Since when does Stark have a son?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me writing rhodey swooping in dramatically for the fifth time in a row: :)


	12. leather bound wrists

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s a split second, barely enough time for the skin on the back of Peter’s neck to crawl, barely enough time for him to blurt out, “Mr Stark–!”
> 
> The wall behind them explodes. Peter sees white.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> once again, i’m so sorry i haven’t been able to reply to your comments, but every single one makes me smile 💕
> 
> i have one, maybe two more prompts i’m planning to fill and then normal service will resume
> 
> this is a continuation of [chapter 8](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22511020/chapters/54467185) and also part 3 in the saga of me locking peter in things this february
> 
> warnings for discussion and threat of human trafficking

Peter isn’t surprised when he jogs to the car waiting for him and finds Mr Stark in the driver’s seat. It’s a tradition now: eat out somewhere before heading to the Tower, stay in public, try not to get kidnapped again.

“Hi!” he says brightly as he climbs in the front seat.

“Hey, kiddo.” Mr Stark pulls out into the street, but not before flashing him a fond grin. “I’m feeling pizza today. Any objections?”

“Nothing like New York pizza, Mr Stark.”

“Atta boy. I know a good place. Best breadsticks I’ve ever eaten.”

“I’m expecting big things now.”

“And you won’t be disappointed. Oh, and I think I got something on that Kingpin guy–“

“Wait, really?” They’ve been working this together for nearly two months, ever since those men took them and revealed they were working for Kingpin. With Mr Stark’s help, Peter had intercepted four more weapon exchanges and three drug deals, but they were no closer to finding the person in charge of the crime network.

“Ah-ah, no shop talk until we’re in the lab, you know the rules.”

“Ugh, _fine_.”

* * *

It’s a split second. They’re sitting at a tiny table, squeezed into the very back of the pizza restaurant. Peter’s laughing, holding a slice of Mr Stark’s plain cheese that he’d swiped when the man had turned around to ask for some water. Mr Stark is wielding a breadstick like a pointer, the end hovering inches from Peter’s nose. The table is sticky, the chairs wobble, and it’s the best pizza Peter’s ever had.

It’s a split second, barely enough time for the skin on the back of Peter’s neck to crawl, barely enough time for him to blurt out, “Mr Stark–!”

The wall behind them explodes. Peter sees white.

* * *

He wakes up slowly, every limb aching. His head is throbbing. There’s a taste of garlic in the back of his throat. Right. The pizza place. _Mr Stark_.

He tries to move his arms, but feels something around both wrists, something that’s soft and padded but doesn’t feel like it’s going to give, no matter how hard he tugs on them.

“Shit,” Peter mutters, lifting his head off his chest and follows the lines of his arms up above his head, all the way to the thick leather cuffs holding his wrists in place and keeping him standing. “Shit.”

He tries to deadweight his way out a couple of times, even though he knows that they’d held him up while he was unconscious and they’re not about to stop now, until he feels a strain in both shoulders and staggers back to a standing position with a frustrated groan.

There’s a pane of glass a few feet in front of him, and to his left when he twists his head around; one behind, one above his head, all of them secured in place with bolts made of a shiny silver metal. Peter looks to his right, and his heart stops.

Mr Stark is crumpled on the floor beside him, locked in an identical glass cube. He doesn’t look restrained, but Peter can see a cut on his cheek, a blooming black eye.

“Mr Stark!” he cries, stretching his legs out as far as he can; his toes barely brush the glass. “Mr Stark, wake up!”

Nothing. He must be alive, right? They wouldn’t bother putting him in a cell if he wasn’t.

Peter kicks off the ground, swings himself back and forwards as he dangles from his wrists, until his foot hits the glass with a satisfying thump. Mr Stark shifts, blinking rapidly, and groans as he sits up.

Peter could cry with relief. “Mr Stark!”

“Kid!” Mr Stark scrambles to his feet and looks Peter up and down, instantly alert. “Okay. All right. Can you break out of the cuffs? They don’t look–“

“I’ve tried. I can’t – I don’t know why I can’t–“

“Okay, buddy, it’s okay. Try not to swing around too much. Don’t want you hurting yourself.” Mr Stark starts to pace around the edge of his cell, eyes searching. It soothes Peter instantly; Mr Stark is going to get them out of here. He wrote the textbook on escaping captivity. “Any idea where we are? Who did this?”

“No.” Peter’s arms are already starting to burn from being held above his head. If he’s like this much longer, he’s going to be in agony. “We really need to start getting takeout, Mr Stark.”

Mr Stark laughs, crouching in the corner and pushing at a screw. “Yeah, we don’t have a great track record. Next time, we’re ordering in. Anywhere you want. I can do that.”

The lock clicks on the door and Mr Stark leaps to his feet. Peter watches as the door swings open, hinges creaking.

“Uh-oh,” a familiar voice calls out, smug and sing-song, “did the itsy-bitsy spider get caught in a web?”

“You,” Mr Stark growls, moving to the front of his cell, like he can step between Peter and the man, the way he had last time.

Because this man had cornered them in a parking lot only a few months ago, had pulled a gun and threatened to shoot Peter if Mr Stark didn’t cooperate. Peter had blurted out he was Spider-Man and punched him in the chest. This time – this feels more dangerous than last time. It feels professional, slick. They have cuffs that can hold Peter, glass he can’t break.

“Tony Stark, and his little intern,” the man says. “Hey, quick question, Stark. Is he actually an intern or just a sidekick?”

“I’m _his_ sidekick, asshole,” Mr Stark snaps. “Come on, you’re this scared of a kid? Gonna leave him tied up like that?”

“Not making the same mistake twice, Stark. Our benefactor is…thorough.”

“Kingpin, right?” Mr Stark says, jumping in before Peter can open his mouth. “I’ve been doing my research.”

“You’ve been doing a lot more than that,” a new voice says, and a second figure steps into the room. He’s huge, more heavily built than a quarterback, and dressed in a black suit.

“Fisk?” Mr Stark sounds uncertain for the first time. “Wilson Fisk? What are you doing here? You work for–? Son of a bitch.”

“Oh, he got there eventually,” Fisk says, moving further into the room. “The greatest mind of our generation. Makes me think I’m doing something right.”

“You’re the Kingpin?” Peter says, and all three pairs of eyes snap to look at him.

“Curious,” Fisk says as he approaches the glass, surveying Peter like an animal in a zoo. “We’ve been watching you for some time, Mr Parker, but up close, you look so much younger. Too young to do what you do, maybe.”

“Hey!” Mr Stark kicks the glass separating him from Peter. “Back off the kid. Leave him out of whatever this is.”

Fisk smiles, looking Peter up and down one more time. “No. No, I don’t think so.” He takes a step back, but keeps his eyes firmly on Peter, who doesn’t feel like he can look away. “In the past six months, between the two of you, do you know how much of my stock has been confiscated by the authorities?”

Peter shrugs as best he can, ignoring the way his shoulders scream in protest.

“Ten million dollars’ worth.”

Peter nearly chokes.

“Shocking, isn’t it? Now, you’re a businessman, Stark. You’ll understand that I need compensation for my losses.”

“I’m not paying you because I busted your illegal deals,” Mr Stark says. "Play stupid games, all that."

“And I’m not asking you to. No, I’ve found a much better way.” Fisk smiles again, a cold smile that fills Peter with heavy dread. “Did you know that there are people who pay twice that much, three times as much, for enhanced people on the black market?”

It takes a second for it to really sink in. Peter’s heartbeat thuds in his ears. Mr Stark stands, dumbstruck, frozen, and then he snaps.

Peter can’t focus on his mentor practically breathing fire a few feet away. These people have him trapped and helpless, and they’re going to sell him like a piece of fucking property.

“There’s quite the demand for mutants, if you know where to look,” Fisk continues. Mr Stark’s yelling gets louder, more incomprehensible. “They make wonderful servants, or cage fighters, or test subjects. You’re a scientist, aren’t you, Mr Parker? Surely you understand that discovery requires sacrifice.”

Peter can’t speak; his throat is closing over, he can barely breathe, he can’t think–

“Some people just want a pet. It really depends who ends up bidding on you.” Fisk steps back with yet another smile, this one cheerful, like he hadn’t just churned out the script to Peter’s very own personal horror movie. “We’ll give you two a minute.”

The door slams shut. Mr Stark’s shouts abruptly cut off, the silence now punctuated by his harsh breathing.

“Kid,” he says urgently. “You need to get out of here, you hear me? Whatever you need to do. Get out, call Rhodey, call the team. Don’t worry about me, just–“

“No, Mr Stark–!”

“Will you do as I tell you, for _once_ in your life?”

“I’m not leaving you!”

“They’re not planning on _selling_ me, Peter!” Mr Stark yells, slamming his palm into the glass. “This is the point you stop giving a shit about anything except getting the hell out!”

“I can’t!” Peter shouts back. “I tried! I tried before you woke up, I’ve been trying this whole time! I can’t, I–“ He breaks off as a sudden wave of hopelessness threatens to overwhelm him.

“Okay,” Mr Stark says, barely louder than a whisper. “Okay, kid. Sorry – I’m sorry I yelled.”

“No, no, it was good. Probably needed it. Slap in the face is out, so…”

Mr Stark grins. “Good. All right. Come on, Pete. You can do this. You’re Spider-Man.”

“Yeah…” Peter tugs against the cuffs again. “I can’t get out…but they’ll come and take me out, right? To bring me to whoever buys me–“

“No,” Mr Stark snaps, his voice brittle. “That’s not a fucking option.”

“But–“

“Vetoed.”

“Let’s hear your plan, then.”

Mr Stark’s mouth opens and closes, his hands curling into loose fists against the glass. “Kid…”

“This is our best chance,” Peter insists. “You know I’m right.”

“Doesn’t mean I have to like it. Still vetoed.”

“Mr Stark, unless you’ve managed to unscrew that thing you were fiddling with, we’re all out of options.”

Mr Stark rests his forehead against the wall that separates them. “This better work, kid, or I’m never buying you pizza again.”

“It was good pizza,” Peter murmurs, and a grin tugs at his lips. “I want my own breadsticks. You use them as weapons.”

“In defence of my pizza.”

The door opens and they both jump as men spill into the room. Peter’s skin crawls. They’re out of time.

“All right, kid. Let’s move. Customers are waiting.”

Peter scowls and yanks on the cuffs again. The front wall of his cell swings open, even he can't see any controls or locks.

“Yeah, try and get out of those all you want. They won’t budge. Comfy though, aren’t they? Boss doesn’t like to move damaged merchandise.” The man from before smirks. “Says he likes to let his customers do the damaging.”

“Piss off.”

“Oh, the baby knows some bad words, Stark. He learn that from you?”

“You bet your ass.”

The man goes to unlock his cuffs and Peter bends his knees, tenses, braces himself for a fight.

“Oh!” The man drops his hands and makes a big show of looking in his pockets, before drawing out a thin metal band with a laugh. “Whoops! Can’t forget this.”

“What’s that?” Peter demands. His senses are prickling more as the thing gets closer to him. “What are you doing?”

The man wraps it around his ankle, where it forms a complete circle, and Peter’s body just…sags. He can’t explain it, other than he doesn’t have the energy to hold himself up anymore.

“What did you do?” Mr Stark demands. “Peter?”

“Just a little mutant Kryptonite, don’t get your Tom Ford pants in a twist. Taking precautions, that’s all it is.”

Peter’s hands drop, still bound together, and hang uselessly in front of him; he can't revel in the relief of his strained shoulders returning to their normal position. He needs to fight, needs to punch his way out of here and get Mr Stark, but instead he blinks and almost forgets to open his eyes again.

“Yeah, all right. He’s good for transfer. Hope you said your goodbyes, Stark.”

“You piece of shit,” Mr Stark hisses. “He’s a child, all right? A fucking _kid_.”

“Yeah, you tried that last time, and then he dropped six of us in ten seconds. He’s not a kid, he’s a product. I’d say feel free to put a bid on him, but you’re staying in there until we’re all cleared out of this building.”

“Peter?” Mr Stark sounds frantic. “Pete, kid, come on. You need to fight. Snap out of it!”

Peter can’t. His head drops, chin hitting his chest, and the men laugh as they drag him away.

* * *

“Come on, quick. Boss is getting impatient.”

“Boss is always impatient.”

“Whatever. Just–“

There’s a bang, loud enough to set Peter’s ears ringing.

“Shit!”

“The Avengers are here!”

“Stark’s gonna come for the kid – hide him, quickly.”

The hands on Peter’s shoulders bundle him sideways, into a small dark space. A door slams shut.

“Hang tight, Spidey-boy. We’ll be right back to collect you after we deal with this.”

Finally, things are quiet, and Peter slowly, slowly begins to come back to himself. He can still feel the metal band around his ankle, deadening his strength, but he can also tell someone is standing right outside the metal cupboard he’s been stuffed inside.

“I’m here!” Peter yells, kicking out with a loud clang. “I’m in here!”

The door is flung open, light flooding the small space, and there’s a flash of red hair.

“Where’s Mr Stark?” Peter blurts. Did they get him out? “He’s somewhere else in here–“

“Stark?” the person says, and _holy shit_ , that’s the Black Widow. “I got a kid down here asking for you.” She pauses, glances back at Peter. “Peter Parker?”

“Yeah – yes.”

“Okay.” She leans in and helps him out. “Tony’s on his way. Are you hurt?”

Peter shakes his head.

“Peter!”

He barely has time to turn around before Mr Stark barrels into the room and sweeps him into the tightest hug he’s ever experienced.

“Oh, my God,” Mr Stark gasps into the top of his head, “shit, I thought I was too late. I thought I was too late.”

Peter grabs handfuls of Mr Stark’s shirt, pressing himself as close as he can with his hands still cuffed together. Mr Stark rocks them both from side to side, one arm securely around Peter’s shoulders, the other hand clasping the back of his head.

“Stark,” the Black Widow says. “Tony, let’s go. We don’t know they won’t come back. Let the FBI do their inventory of all the stock. We’ve done our bit.”

“Right.” Mr Stark pulls away and looks down, notices the cuffs. “Sorry, kid, let’s get you out of these, huh? And we’ll figure out a way to get that damn thing off your ankle – might have to let Rogers at it.”

Peter ducks his head, embarrassed. Mr Stark has never hugged him like that – they barely hug at all – and he’s waiting for Mr Stark to brush it off, make a joke about it. He doesn’t, though, just turns to talk to Natasha while resting one hand on Peter’s cheek, thumb stroking back and forth. When he’s finished, he gently unbuckles the cuffs and drops them to the ground.

“Let’s get out of here, kid,” he says. “Never finished our pizzas, did we? Think you had more of mine than I did.”

“Gotta guard your pizza with your life, Mr Stark.”

“Yeah, with a hungry teenager around, I do.” Mr Stark pulls him close again, kisses the top of his head. “Please don’t put me through that. Ever again.”

“Yeah, this was totally on purpose,” Peter drawls, partly to hide his surprise. This is such a different Mr Stark to the one he’s grown to know, but it’s one he likes. “Get myself kidnapped on the regular for the shits and giggles.”

“You say that like a joke, and yet…”

“Mr Staaaark!”

“Okay, let’s go. Better show our faces at the Tower before Happy has an aneurysm. And bring him some pizza as an apology for stressing him out.”

“Yeah, yeah, good idea. Pizza all round.”

“And my plain cheese is mine, you got that? You want one, you order one.”

“But I don’t want a whole one, I just want, like, a slice.”

“Well, that sounds like a you problem.”

“Mr Stark!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there might be a part 3 to this??

**Author's Note:**

> i'm on tumblr @akillerqueenwrites, or my main blog @akillerqueenyouare. come say hi, ask questions, leave prompts or just yell at me. i've also made a twitter, @killerqueenao3, if any of you want to talk to me there. thank you for reading!


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